When Fate is Denied
by DarkestDreams
Summary: Christine turns up unconscious on Erik's doorstep after six years. Erik has finally moved on, yet he struggles to save her life. What will happen when Erik is asked to make the same sacrifice of six years prior? Eventual EC Loads of angst COMPLETE
1. Lost Souls

**A/N: **Hello once again, fellow Phantom fans! This is now my third phanfic, and it looks to be a long one. I am not sure where this one is going to go yet, but you all know me to be a tried and true E/C shipper, so I am sure this ship will land there eventually. Unlike my last phic, I think I will write and post this one a chapter or two at a time. And be forewarned: this one will be far more angst-ridden than "Voyage dans la Lumière". Probably one or two scenes down the road will be earning the "M" rating, although I don't like to be graphic, so hopefully any violent scenes or love scenes will be tastefully done and I will give you fair warning in the author's notes as well.

**Note: Be forewarned. There is a strong theme of suicide in this fic.**

For background, this one is based on the 2004 movie with a few Leroux references possibly thrown in here and there. Once again, forget the black and white graveyard scene at the end of the movie. Pretend it never happened. Not that I don't like it, just that it doesn't fit with the plot. Six years prior to the start of this story, Erik watched his beloved Christine sail away with Raoul. That is really all you need to know.

Please read and review! (I love reviewers and I always reply. Review every chapter if you feel so inclined, I will still reply, but no flames, please.) On with the story at last!

-_DarkestDreams_

DISCLAIMER: As everyone knows, although I may wish it desperately with my entire being, I do not own Erik (darn it) or any of the classic POTO characters who you will recognize here. That credit belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, etc. I haven't read the Kay book because I can't seem to get my hands on it (grrrr!), so I can't give her any credit for this one.

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 1 - Lost Souls**

The rain streamed down the pane of the window forming long, twisting rivulets that converged upon one another and then diverged further down the glass, performing an intricate weaving dance upon its smooth surface. The dark figure behind the window stared out at the blurred images of the abandoned street; intense gray-blue eyes taking in everything, but seeing nothing.

He was lost once more in the twisted labyrinth of his thoughts, wandering in the dangerous, gray haze of the past. For it was in the past that his heart and soul resided: torn from him six years ago this night. Thus, it seemed only fitting that on this dark anniversary of sorts his mind would wish to return there, if only to reunite with those other parts of him that had been so long amiss.

Flashes of events, broken bits of conversation, velvet brown eyes filled with tears... The images danced before his mind one after another, showing themselves briefly, before being conquered mercilessly in the battle between mind and will. As always, his stubbornness would be the clear victor as it quickly crushed any semblance of feeling that might otherwise accompany his thoughts. He could not stop the horrible parade of memories, but he would be damned if he would allow himself to revel in it.

That was how he had managed to survive these past six years, by stripping himself bare of all emotion. Joy, love, compassion – none were allowed to exist in the cold, calculated world he had built for himself. A sorry, barren existence it may seem to the occasional onlooker, devoid of any of the warmer human emotions, but it had its benefits as well. For wherever joy, love, and compassion dwelt, their more deadly counterparts resided also – misery, hatred, and cruelty. Of these latter three, he felt he had more than his fill during his lifetime, and of the former three, well, he had never known enough of any of them to feel bereft in their absence.

Erik turned abruptly from the window, victorious in the battle against his mind for the moment, and seated himself at the formidable mahogany desk in the center of the room. There, he immersed himself for a time in his work: calculating measurements, making notes, and finally sketching relentlessly - as if his quick, deft hands could not keep up with the torrent of ideas rushing forth from his brilliant, impatient mind. By the magic of his skilled hand, a magnificent structure was taking shape on the paper before him. After several more hours of tireless effort, the sketch was complete.

He eyed it critically, frowning slightly as he searched in vain for any noticeable flaw. Any other observer would have thought the sketch more a work of art than an architectural blueprint; such was his style and skill. But Erik's critique was not that of a casual observer. His eye demanded utter perfection. In this case, however, even he could find no fault. The beauty of the structure nearly leapt off the page.

Beauty was something of great importance to Erik. That much was clearly evident in both the sketch and the room around him. Exotic dark wood and fine fabrics in deep jewel tones marked the space, as well as shelf upon shelf of finely bound, leather covered volumes of great literature covering the walls. An exquisitely detailed Persian rug in a rich shade of red adorned the floor beneath the heavy mahogany desk. Overall, it was an affluent and thoroughly masculine space, but in no way overdone. Instead, the room merely seemed to reflect the flawless taste and complex depth of the man who had created it.

At half past one in the morning, with his first project complete and neatly rolled in leather to protect it from the seemingly never-ending rain, Erik withdrew several more clean sheets of paper and set to his calculations once again. He had realized long ago that he needed far less sleep than most people, and the comforting shadows of the night had always suited him far better than the unforgiving light of day. The hours after midnight were often his most productive and satisfying, and it was common for him to retire only one or two hours before awaking and setting to his day's work once again.

Absorbed in his endeavors, he did not hear at once the hesitant knock on his study door. Gradually, however, the knocking grew in both volume and insistence to a point at which he could no longer ignore it. Cursing in frustration, he strode to the door, flinging it open rather rudely.

"What?" he barked irritably.

Henry, his butler for the past five years was accustomed to Erik's frequent tempers, and did not flinch at the warning in his master's tone. He was no fool, and was well aware that his master would not appreciate being interrupted, but the matter at hand required his attention. Had it not, he would never have been so foolish as to disturb him. Thus, he stood tall and unfazed by the angry eyes and forbidding presence staring down at him.

"There is someone at the front door, sir."

Erik frowned slightly, his tone one of blatant impatience. "Well, obviously as my butler, you should inform him that I do not receive unwelcome visitors in the middle of the night."

Henry was also accustomed to Erik's familiar biting sarcasm and his courage did not wither beneath it now. "It is a woman, sir."

Erik's eyes widened with shock. Feeling thoroughly vindicated, Henry continued. "I would send her away, certainly sir, but she seems to have collapsed on the doorstep. She is soaking wet and appears unconscious. What would you have me do, sir?"

Erik stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then without so much as an apology, pushed past Henry, and descended quickly down the stairs.

The front door was open just a crack, rain seeping onto the polished marble floor of the foyer. As Erik reached the doorway, he hesitated for a moment, then jerked the door open its full span.

He stood dumbstruck. Though her face was not visible in the tangle of wet hair and clothing, he would have known her slight form anywhere. _Christine_.


	2. Questions Left Unanswered

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 2 - Questions Left Unanswered **

Erik stood staring for a moment. Part of him wished fleetingly that he could just close the door and she would disappear, but he quelled the feeling of vague impending doom in favor of more practical matters as he noticed a pool of blood forming on his marble floor. He had no time just now to think of the ramifications of his actions. Fear and instinct immediately took over as he bent down to lift her from the doorstep.

Even with her heavy, water-soaked clothing, Erik noticed with concern that she weighed practically nothing. He looked down into the unconscious face resting against his shoulder and saw that the blood seemed to be coming from a nasty gash on her forehead: a token of her fall against the stone of the doorstep, no doubt. With relief, he noted that while ugly and deep, it did not appear at first glance to be life-threatening.

He repositioned her body slightly in his arms and began up the long staircase to the second floor. Henry appeared at the top of the stairs.

"I will need some warm water and clean towels. See if you can find some antiseptic." Erik kicked open the door of the nearest bedroom to his right. "Oh, and wake one of the maids and see if you can procure some sort of women's nightdress."

Henry raised an eyebrow, but Erik's patience had reached its limits. "I am certainly not going to ravish her while she's unconscious. Think, man! I can't leave her in this. She will die of pneumonia! Now for God's sake, hang your sense of useless propriety and find a maid who can help me tend to her!"

Henry broke quickly from his momentary hesitation and hurried to fulfill his master's requests. Far from doubting Erik's intentions with the woman, he had merely been surprised to find that he had actually allowed her into his home and appeared concerned for her well being. It wasn't that his master was unkind exactly...it was just that he seldom demonstrated any sort of emotion at all, aside from his occasional tempers and ever-present irritability. Somehow, this tiny, helpless creature on the doorstep had managed to bring out more humanity in five minutes time than he had seen from this cold, mysterious man over the past five years.

Henry hardly had time to ponder this revelation at the moment. His arms were full with the requested supplies, as he rushed down the hall to the servants' quarters. As he hurried past each door, he tried to imagine the measurements of the female servants contained within, hoping desperately to wake the one who would be the closest fit. He finally settled on the third door and rapped anxiously.

Moments later, with a confused and rather drowsy young maid trailing behind him clutching an extra nightdress, he once again ascended the stairs. The door was part way open and a patch of light spilled out into the dim hallway. His arms too full to knock properly, Henry hesitantly stepped inside.

The sight that met his eyes only served to deepen his confusion. The woman's face was visible now in the lamplight. Henry observed her cautiously. She was young and obviously very lovely despite the ugly gash along her right temple and her long, matted curls.

Unaware of Henry's presence, Erik sat gently wiping the blood away from her face with a clean, damp cloth. What struck Henry immediately was the gentleness of his hands and the sad, tender look in his eyes as he gazed down at her. In an instant, Henry was certain that this was no random woman seeking shelter from a stranger. It was obvious that his master not only knew her, but cared for her deeply. Strange, in all his years of service and despite the fact that there had been several women draped on his master's arm during that time, he had never once seen him with anything like that particular look upon his face.

Henry cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping to alert his master to his presence without revealing his observations. "The items you required, sir." He motioned to the hesitant young woman in the doorway. "Patrice has come to assist you, and she has the item of clothing you requested." Sensing that some privacy was needed, he deposited the items on the bedside table and turned to leave. "We will wait outside the door until you call for us."

Erik nodded and reached silently for a clean towel and the basin of water. Dipping the soft cloth into the warm water, he wrung it out and carefully began to clean the angry wound on her temple. It was deeper than he had originally thought, he noticed with a worried frown. From the depth of the cut and the angle, he guessed that she must have fainted somehow, turning as she fell so that the right side of her forehead met the edge of the stone steps, causing the long, horizontal laceration. He looked at her palms, but as there were no scrapes or imbedded pebbles, it seemed obvious she had made no attempt to break her fall – further evidence that she had likely been unconscious prior to the unfortunate meeting of her head with the step.

He moved his hands gently down the length of her arms, trying to determine if there were any broken bones. As his thumb probed the area around her wrist, he was troubled to feel a raised, horizontal ridge. He lifted her arm gently and turned it palm-up to the light, examining it more closely. The ridge was in fact a scar: a straight white line crossing the faintly evident blue veins beneath her delicate, pale skin. Startled, he exchanged her right wrist for her left, again holding it palm-up to the light. A perfect matching horizontal scar met his horrified eyes.

Erik's mind raced. What on earth would make Christine desire to take her own life? And why in God's name had she fainted on his doorstep just now? With sudden fear gripping his entire body, he looked down at her face once again, and noticed the extreme pallor of her skin. Her breathing seemed increasingly shallow and labored. The hand he held in his own was shaking slightly, even though its owner was obviously unconscious. Suddenly, her whole body convulsed, her tiny form twisting and thrashing onto its side where she retched violently.

Shaking, convulsions and vomiting, the marks on her wrists...Erik's eyes widened in horrified understanding.

"Henry!" At the sound of his name and his master's urgent tone, Henry stepped quickly inside the room. "Fetch the doctor immediately. I don't care if it is the middle of the night, I will pay him ten times what he requires and more if he hastens." Harry nodded and rushed out the door. Erik's eyes then turned to the frightened young maid still standing uncertainly in the hallway. "We need something that will force her to vomit. Wake up the Daroga, and explain the situation, quickly."

As the maid scurried down the hall, Erik sat down once more by Christine's side, gently wiping the vomit and fresh blood from the once healthy, radiant face. If his fears proved to be warranted, her very life now rested with his trusted friend, for the doctor would most certainly never make it in time.

Staring down at her youthful, innocent face he tried to fathom what could have gone so horribly wrong to bring her to this. He had been so certain that she would be happy and well looked after with the vicomte, despite his own bitter hatred of the man. Erik lowered his head and tears filled his eyes. He was ashamed that he had not been there to protect her from whatever force had driven her to this madness. True, she had betrayed him cruelly, but even so, he had sworn he would always be her angel, caring for her and watching over her. He should have kept his promise, no matter the pain it would have caused him. Erik was angry at his weakness. His own pain meant nothing to him compared to hers. How could this have happened? His tear-stained face lifted to search hers. _Why, Christine? _He thought in anguish. _Why?_


	3. Between Life and Death

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 3 – Between Life and Death**

Within moments, the familiar care-worn face of the Persian appeared at the door. Erik's face belied his relief, though his words were clipped and impatient. "An overdose of some sort of medication, Daroga." Nadir raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He could sense Erik's deep agitation, and knowing his friend as he did, he was aware that any words that were not strictly necessary in such a situation were best left unsaid. His dark eyes fell upon the woman on the bed, and understanding dawned.

When the maid had come beating at his door, she had said only that a woman had been found unconscious and that the master had ordered her to fetch him and a substance that would induce vomiting. After the Persian's many adventures with Erik, a good deal of them regrettably violent and vastly bizarre, such a thing hardly surprised him anymore, though many would think it the oddest of requests.

Still, as he had dug frantically through his trunk for the particular green bottle he was searching for, he had thought it strange that Erik had allowed the woman into his home instead of simply sending a servant to fetch a doctor or the authorities. Erik was normally intensely private and deeply mistrustful of strangers, not without cause. But to befriend Erik had always been to befriend a riddle, an endless paradox. And to question his requests was not only potentially hazardous to one's health, but frequently futile as Erik seldom divulged his reasons anyway. Grasping the bottle triumphantly in his large and calloused hand he had flown up the staircase, his hastily donned robe billowing behind him.

Standing now in the lamplight, staring down at the young face and chestnut curls, he knew at once who the woman must be and all the pieces at last fell into place. "She has vomited once already?" he asked.

"Obviously," Erik snapped gesturing toward the stain on the expensive rug below the bed.

Nadir did not take offense at his ungrateful tone. He could see his friend was deeply upset and Erik tended to react with similar irritability to any situation which upset his carefully constructed universe.

The Persian stepped closer to the bed and laid a gentle, copper hand upon the woman's forehead. Her skin was clammy to the touch, rather than feverish which would seem to support the idea of an overdose or poisoning of some kind.

His dark, wise eyes turned to his friend. "How can you be certain that it was an overdose of medication and not poison? If she has been poisoned, vomiting might worsen her condition."

Erik hesitated for a moment, then lifted Christine's right wrist for the Daroga's inspection. "There is a matching one on the other wrist." Nadir inhaled sharply and nodded, uncorking the green bottle in his hand. He inclined his head toward the young maid in the doorway. "Its effects will be almost immediate."

Erik understood. "Patrice, bring the wash basin from the next room and many more clean towels." As she hastened to fetch them, Erik drew in a deep breath and nodded to Nadir, reaching a hand up to gently pinch Christine's nostrils together in order to force her to open her mouth. Nadir poured about a quarter of the liquid inside the bottle down her throat, then moved to take the wash basin from the shaking servant girl at the door, closing it behind her.

Erik released his hand from Christine's nose, and moved onto the bed beside her, gently drawing her into a sitting position in front of him and leaning her slight form against his chest. A faint shudder of electricity passed through his body at the unfamiliar intimacy of the contact, but he brushed it aside impatiently, focusing instead on Nadir's grave expression as he covered the bed with towels and placed the wash basin in the center of them.

The eyes of the two friends met for a moment. This would be a very long night.

Two hours later, the two exhausted men waited outside the door of the room as the doctor examined Christine inside. The Persian stood leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling, while Erik had chosen instead to pace restlessly up and down the long hallway.

Hearing the sound of the door, Erik turned and quickly retraced his steps to face the doctor. He appeared weary and haggard from the ordeal, but his eyes as intense as ever. "She will live?" The question was short and to-the-point, but awaiting that one word answer, he felt as if his own life hung into balance as well.

The doctor, a graying man in his late fifties smiled gravely. "Yes, monsieur, I believe so."

Erik closed his eyes briefly and released a relieved breath. The doctor looked from him to the Persian. "You most definitely saved her life, though I am rather mystified as to how you did it."

The doctor took in the dark skin and foreign looking dress of the man to his right and he gave an involuntary shudder. He was uncertain what kind of voodoo concoction the young woman had been given, but the end result had been a near miracle so he could hardly deny his begrudging acknowledgment of the man's skill. Nadir merely bowed his head briefly in reply.

The doctor turned back to Erik, sensing somehow that he was the man responsible for the girl, at least for the moment. "The cut on her head was quite deep, but I have cleaned it thoroughly and stitched it as best I could; however, it is possible that it may leave a permanent scar." Erik winced. Christine's face had always been flawless. It was sad to think of anything marring that perfection.

The doctor continued. "I have given her a strong sedative to help her sleep through the night, and I have left a prescription to help her get through the first few days of her recovery."

His knowing eyes sought Erik's and he dropped his tone to one of discretion, turning slightly from the foreign-looking man. "Sir, I am not sure if you are aware, but this woman, I believe she is the Vicomtesse de Chagny. Do you have any idea how she came to be in such a state?"

Erik's mouth set in a grim line and his eyes immediately flashed a dangerous warning.

The doctor drew back startled at the man's suddenly imposing form.

Erik kept his tone even, but there was a hint of a threat in his voice when he responded. "Good sir, you are paid to provide medical advice and not advice of a personal nature. The woman turned up bleeding and unconscious on my doorstep. Would you rather I had left her there to die?"

The doctor cringed at the harshness of the words and hastily tried to explain himself. "Of course not, I simply wondered if you were aware of her identity so that you would be able to notify her husband of her whereabouts. I am certain he will be worried..."

At the growing look of thunderous anger rolling over the already intimidating face of the man before him, the doctor shrank back and trailed off uncertainly.

Once again, however, Erik managed to control himself, dropping his voice to a low growl. "Has it ever occurred to you, monsieur, that her husband might be the reason why she turned up here tonight in such a state?"

The doctor nodded hurriedly, reaching for his coat and hat. As he turned to leave, Erik handed him a rather thick-looking envelope. The doctor reached for it, but Erik did not release it immediately, forcing the doctor to meet his icy, threatening eyes. "For your services...and your silence," Erik hissed. The doctor once again nodded hurriedly and fled quickly down the stairs, wondering briefly what madness he had somehow stumbled into this night.


	4. The Consequences of Kindness

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 4 – The Consequences of Kindness**

In his haste to leave, the doctor did not notice the fine carriage parked in the shadows across the street. He did not see the handsome, young nobleman hurrying towards the door from whence he had just come. The collar of the young man's long jacket was turned up and he hunched forward slightly to fend off the incessant rain as he strode quickly across the slick cobblestone.

Inside, Erik sat once more in the chair beside Christine's sleeping form. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands tightly clasped beneath his chin as he stared unseeing toward the opposite wall. He glanced briefly at Christine. She was resting comfortably now, and he knew he should be doing the same. As difficult as this night had been, tomorrow was sure to prove a trial in and of itself, as the consequences of taking this woman into his home were sure to make themselves brutally clear in the light of day.

Erik sighed. He had really had no choice, of course. No matter what she had done, no matter how he denied it, he still cared for her. He could no sooner have allowed her to die than he could stop the beating of his own heart.

He dropped his face into his hands. No, whatever the cost of his actions, he could not regret them. Tomorrow, if she was well enough, he would ask her to explain what had caused her to take such a drastic course of action. If he was satisfied that the vicomte was in no way involved, he would have no choice but to notify him of his wife's whereabouts and return her to him, although he would certainly keep a closer eye out for her well being in the future. And if the vicomte were to be the cause...well, he would cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

Christine stirred slightly just then, and he turned to look at her once more. The maid and his elderly housekeeper, a rather motherly sort of woman, had bathed her and changed her into the light cotton nightdress after the doctor had concluded his examination. With her curls dry and plaited into a neat braid at the back of her head and the white cotton lace around her throat she looked agonizingly young and fragile – hardly older than the little girl he had seen enter the Opera Populaire with Madame Giry so many years ago.

He reached out and reverently brushed the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek. Touching her was like a drug to him, filling his cold emptiness with a warmth that he only felt when in contact with her skin. Remembering that it also had the same addictive qualities, he withdrew his hand abruptly and stood up to leave the room. He looked back at her once more and could not help but think that whatever the next few days might bring, he was thankful for the stolen moments alone with her that he had been granted tonight.

As he descended the staircase to give Henry and the staff instructions for Christine's care, he could not help but feel a tiny surge of hope. Obviously, something was amiss in Christine's marriage. He had always imagined she was blissfully happy in her life with the vicomte. Could it be that there may yet be a chance for him someday to be part of her life?

There was a loud knock at the door, and as he opened it, hope died in his chest as suddenly as it had come. It was instantly replaced by a far more familiar feeling - hatred. There on his doorstep was the Vicomte de Chagny.


	5. Of Noble Blood

**A/N: **Once again, we meet with dangerous, sarcastic Erik - my personal favorite of his many personas. I know he is a bit cruel right now, but remember, life continues to be unkind to him. You will definitely have some questions after reading this chapter, but answers are on the way. I will not let you down.

ackari smith: Thank you! You were my very first reviewer for this one. Glad you like it. Lots more to come.

The Eccentric Poet: Thank you for all of your thoughtful observations. Yes, I know the last chapter was very short, and I do apologize, but I tend to form my chapters based on segments of related action. I believe that last one is the shortest chapter I have ever written in any of my fics, so don't worry, it is not likely to happen again. Also, as I get deeper into the story, I find that my chapters tend to lengthen out. And yes, it is difficult to take a story like POTO that has sparked so many imaginations and create a fic that is entirely unique, but I think you will find that as you continue to read, there will be several twists and turns along the way that will hopefully help to make this one stand on its own.

Jema Moda: So good to hear from you again! Thank you for your loyal support. Glad to have you back aboard. You know that I am a hopeless romantic and hold a lifetime pass on the good ship EC, so without revealing too much, let me assure you that all you are wishing for will happen in good, sweet time. Lots more angst in this one though, so hang in there for it will be a bumpy ride. Oh, and I think this chapter should answer one of the questions you asked.

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 5 – Of Noble Blood**

Staring down at the perfect, aristocratic features of his loathed rival, Erik felt the familiar surge of crimson rage beginning to cloud his judgment. This would not do, he reminded himself. He needed answers tonight, and those could not be gained from a corpse. He paused for a moment to reign in the inner demons clamoring for a bloody revenge. As he steadied himself, the initial fury that had openly colored his face but a moment before was replaced by a lazy mocking smile and an air of cool indifference.

Raoul watched Erik's face undergo the seemingly instantaneous transformation from a frenzied murderous expression to that of a sly, jungle predator with a shudder. He had sincerely hoped never to cross paths with this maniac ever again, and now here he stood in the creature's doorway of his own accord.

Raoul opened his mouth and then closed it again, still wondering how best to ask the question without revealing too much.

Erik leaned lazily against the door frame, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his smirk widening as he sensed the vicomte's discomfort.

"Lose something?" he asked softly, his drawling voice oozing sarcasm.

Raoul's face colored sharply. He was indeed embarrassed beyond imagination that he had not known the whereabouts of his wife for the past eight hours and was utterly humiliated that after six years of marriage she had once again sought out the comfort of this man whom he reviled. But even more importantly, he was relieved. At least now he knew for certain where she was, though in truth it was the last place on earth he wished for her to be.

The situation was so bizarre he was momentarily speechless, uncertain what to say to explain his presence. Worst of all, now that the evidence of their failing marriage had appeared on his doorstep, Raoul had no doubt that the arrogant man before him would see it as justification to take matters into his own bloody hands. There was no telling what the consequences would be if he learned everything.

Raoul shifted his weight uncomfortably. That evening, he had returned home to find the normally locked bottom drawer of his desk open wide with a pile of detective's reports scattered recklessly around the room. He had guessed immediately what she had discovered. But she had taken the document listing the monster's address, forcing him to travel to the chief detective's home on the other side of the city, roust him out of bed, and obtain the information from him before he had been able to track her down. Now, he was tired, hurt, wet, and angry, so a little embarrassment seemed the least of his worries.

Nonetheless, his pride would not let him allow the hated creature in front of him to see his weakness. He reminded himself that he was a vicomte, a de Chagny, and he would not allow himself to be made a fool of. He straightened his shoulders and replied calmly. "I wish to see my _wife_." He purposefully emphasized the word, smiling with satisfaction as the muscles in Erik's neck tightened noticeably. Raoul looked past Erik through the doorway into the house. "Where is she?" he asked impatiently. "This foolishness has gone on long enough. Take me to her at once."

Though his tone was confident and intentionally condescending, he realized immediately that he had made a grave error. He should have known that his feeble attempt to intimidate the powerful man before him would not only prove unsuccessful, but only serve to anger him further.

Erik's eyes narrowed dangerously and he straightened to his full height, but still he maintained his cool demeanor, grandly gesturing Raoul inside with a deep mocking bow. "By all means, be my guest, sir. But you forget yourself, _Vicomte_," he replied silkily, "Perhaps you have not heard my full name. I suppose I never felt it necessary to share it with you during our previous encounters. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am _Comte_ Erik Alexander Nicholas de Renoir the III."

Raoul's jaw tightened as he stepped inside and began to remove his leather gloves. "A purchased title, no doubt," he scoffed.

Erik smiled slowly. "Alas, it is not. I would wish nothing more than to have been born into some other family, one that cared more for the well being of their children than of their precious title and reputation. A common sin among the nobility it seems. But in the end, my wretched parents, despite their best efforts to the contrary, did in fact provide me with the means to a better life. After my past...transgressions, shall we say, my real name and title have in fact proved most useful in my...reformation. _Phantom_ really wouldn't suit a changed man, now would it?"

Raoul clenched his fists. "Perhaps you would prefer 'murderer'?"

Erik arched an eyebrow in mock disappointment. "You do not trust in my repentance, good Vicomte?" His voice lowered dangerously as he stepped behind Raoul to close the door. The vicomte's hand moved slightly to the saber at his side. Stepping forward and leaning close to the young man's ear he purred, "Perhaps it is I who should be questioning your good reputation. After all, it is hardly proper, your _wife_ showing up unconscious on my doorstep in the middle of the night, nearly dying in my doorway..."

Raoul's eyes widened, his face registering shock and fear. "Where is she?" he whispered. His last defense had left him as he read the insolent message intended between Erik's carefully chosen words. It couldn't be. Not again. Not after all he had done to prevent it. He dropped to his knees in Erik's foyer, his face in his hands.

At the crumbling of his rival's brave facade, Erik felt both triumph and disgust. It had been far too easy to break the young vicomte. After nearly six years, Erik had hoped he would prove a stronger adversary. Inwardly, a rather large part of him longed for the miserable fop to give him one good reason to strangle the life out of him with his bare hands. But seeing him reduced to tears in his foyer was almost as good of a start to the day, he mused.

The sun was indeed beginning to rise, leaving a red-tinged glow on the marble of the floor where scarlet blood had run only hours before. Looking up the stairs toward Christine's room, he felt a sudden need for urgency. She would be waking soon, and then circumstances would become, if possible, even more complex.

With an iron grip, he jerked the sobbing vicomte mercilessly from the floor and half drug his limp form into the den just behind the sitting room, depositing him roughly on the leather sofa. Erik closed the doors carefully behind him, turning the key from his pocket in the lock to ensure that they were not accidentally overheard or interrupted.

Raoul's red-rimmed eyes watched with resignation. Somehow he had the feeling that if he were ever to emerge alive from this room again, it would not be without paying a very heavy price.


	6. Desperate Lies

**A/N:** You will notice in this chapter that Raoul has hardened quite a bit over the past six years. Although I think by the end of this chapter you will understand why. Jealousy is a powerful emotion, and the changes it brings in us are not usually for the better.

Jema Moda: I know. I love the irony in making Erik noble as well, especially since he now outranks the good _Vicomte_! I have always imagined him secretly of noble blood. He seems too refined to be some commoner off the street. And don't worry. You won't feel sorry for Raoul at all after this chapter.

erikfan: It is so nice to see another familiar face. I love my Erik too. As I mentioned before, bitingly sarcastic Erik is my absolute favorite to write. And you are right. I haven't mentioned something very important. But all in good time, dear reader, all in good time...

**Ch 6 – Desperate Lies**

Erik seated himself at his desk opposite the vicomte. He surveyed the young man before him with deepest distaste and loathing. Raoul shivered underneath his icy scrutiny, but he did not at first offer any information. Erik's brows drew together slightly, but he took it upon himself to begin the exchange.

"Good sir, would you care to explain what exactly went on earlier this evening that brought Christine to my home in such a state?" Erik's manner now was business-like, as if he were conducting an interrogation. He had decided on forsaking the verbal sparring for the moment, in the interest of finding out all that he wanted to know. Besides, the vicomte was a most unworthy opponent in such dueling – there was hardly any sport in it at all. So instead, he awaited his explanation with rapt attention, his cool eyes fixed upon the vicomte's face with a steady glare

"She was upset. She found your address, and for reasons utterly unfathomable to me, she sought you out." Raoul bit his lip in the vain hope that Erik would accept his simplistic explanation.

"Ah, yes. I see." Erik smirked. "That was a lovely attempt, good Vicomte, but unfortunately stating the obvious will get you nowhere nearer to your precious wife. So, you will indulge my curiosity satisfactorily, or your wife will remain in my home until I can find such answers on my own." Raoul's jaw tightened, and Erik continued unfazed. "I was under the impression that Christine, like the rest of Paris, believed me to be dead."

Realizing he had no choice, Raoul reluctantly begin to expand on his explanation. "After that night beneath the Opera Populaire, I have had made it a personal priority to always know of your whereabouts." He stood and walked over to stare out the window onto the street below. "Christine did believe you to be dead up until yesterday when she discovered the information that I had kept concerning your location."

Behind the vicomte's turned back, Erik's mused over his words, smiling slightly. He was proud of Christine. She had not blindly accepted all that the boy told her as truth, but had obviously defied him and sought the truth for herself. And the fact that she had set out to find him the very day in which she had learned he was alive gave him an oddly hopeful feeling. It certainly seemed to explain why she had come. But there was still the more pressing matter of the ghastly manner in which she had arrived.

Raoul stepped back from the window and returned to the sofa. He lifted his face, and the pain in his eyes was clear to see. "How is she?"

Erik regarded him for a moment. "She is sleeping now. The doctor visited her earlier and has said she will live."

Raoul gave a sigh of relief, his features relaxing. "I suppose I should thank you."

Erik's mouth set in a grim line. "I would die before I allowed any harm to come to Christine. It was for her that I acted as I did. Do not presume it was in any way for your benefit."

Raoul's temper flared. He looked away from the intensity of Erik's stare, feeling he had somehow been admonished like a child. It wasn't as if he _wouldn't_ be willing to die for Christine. If he thought for a moment it would chase away the demon that haunted her, he would give his life a thousand times over.

"You still have not answered the question, Vicomte, and my patience is wearing thin. Christine was half-dead when my servant found her. Surely you have an explanation?" His mistrust of the vicomte was growing even deeper by the minute. He was hiding something, Erik could sense it.

Raoul's hatred of the man opposite him begin once more to consume him as he thought of what truly answering the question would mean. He would be damned if he would admit the real reason behind Christine's frequent bouts of melancholy. Oh, he was sure the arrogant bastard would love to hear that his wife regretted her choice of six years past. It would please him to no end to find that only three days after the opera fire she had calmly informed Raoul that she had made a mistake and that she could not live without her 'Angel'. Raoul's fists clenched in anger. How the creature would laugh to know that she had returned to the sewer beneath the opera house to find her 'Angel' gone, and believing him dead, had attempted to end her own life, slitting her beautiful delicate wrists in the bathtub of the Raoul's extravagant home. And he would no doubt feel great triumph to learn that from then on, every anniversary of the date on which she had left her lover had become kind of twisted suicide watch for her desperate husband.

How it had all gone wrong, Raoul didn't know. But she had chosen him rightfully on that night six years ago and she had married him of her own free will a few months later. She belonged to him now. She was his wife, and he would fight for her any way he was forced to.

Grim resolve began to flow through his veins. There had to be a way out of this nightmare. Turning to study Erik from the corner of his eye, Raoul begin to form a plan in his mind. This creature adored Christine and felt himself unworthy of her. That was why he had released her all those years ago. He could use that to his advantage.

A fire burning in his own eyes now, Raoul brought them at last to meet the icy glare of the man behind the desk. Erik sensed that they were locked in mortal combat, a battle of wills and minds. He was ready for the challenge, in fact he longed for it.

"I assume you noticed the scars on her wrist then?" Raoul said softly. He had decided the best approach was to appear that he had nothing to hide.

"Yes," Erik replied simply. He was somewhat surprised to hear the vicomte admit the information so easily, but he awaited the remainder of his explanation.

"And tonight, she attempted to end her life once again?"

"It appears that way."

"How did she do it this time?" Raoul tensed in spite of himself, hoping desperately that she had not taken a knife to her lovely skin once more.

"It seems she took a large amount of some kind of medication."

Erik was still hesitant to reveal too much. He felt that while he held the information concerning Christine's condition and exact whereabouts, he had the upper hand.

Raoul nodded. "She has tried that once before," he said softly. Walking toward the opposite window, he began to lay his trap. "Do you have any idea what significance yesterday's date might be of to her?"

Erik wondered uneasily what the boy was playing at. Of course he knew what had happened on yesterday's date six years ago – the night of the opera fire. She had betrayed him on stage and left him for the vicomte. As if he was likely to forget!

"I have no idea," he lied.

Raoul smirked out at the glass. He pictured in his mind the pathetic creature howling in anguish on the shores of the lake as he had sailed away with his prize. There was not a doubt in the vicomte's mind that Erik knew exactly what had transpired on that day six years ago.

Still keeping his face carefully turned away, he began to plunge the dagger in. "Every year on the anniversary of the opera house fire, Christine descends into a sort of melancholy." He kept his tone conversational, almost confiding. "At first, I was utterly at a loss as to why such a happy, angelic creature would suddenly become so encompassed in darkness. Then the nightmares began."

Something didn't seem right. Erik sensed somehow that his adversary now felt he had gained the upper hand. He was speaking with far too much confidence, not at all the beaten boy he had been only moments before. Erik's eyes narrowed as he watched the vicomte saunter through his study, a look of unbearable smugness on his face. But for now, he had no choice but to await the answers he craved.

"Do go on," Erik drawled in a false tone to match the vicomte's own, making it clear that he was aware that something was amiss in his tale.

Raoul still kept his face turned away, pretending to study a particularly fine piece of art on the wall. "It was in those nightmares, you see that I discovered the source of her fear and sadness."

Erik shuddered inwardly at the thought of his hated enemy lying next to Christine in their marriage bed, but still he waited.

Raoul knew that in order to make his story believable, it would be necessary to become something of a performer himself. He would have to be very convincing in order to fool the cunning master of deception who awaited his words. Thus, he was certain that he could no longer avoid eye contact. Taking a deep breath, he rounded on the man behind the desk with all the pent up frustration of a husband who knew that he had been his wife's second choice for the past six years.

"It was you, you filthy beast," he spat the words out angrily. "It was you whom she feared, you whom she felt she would never be free of. You poisoned her with your darkness and she lives terrified that you will come one day and snatch all of her happiness away." His normally reserved face was livid and his words were snarled rather than spoken. Raoul was shaking. He had delivered his lie with all the righteous indignation that he had buried for so long. His words were what the reality _should_ have been. His wife _should_ have been screaming in fear of this evil bastard rather than calling out for his touch in the night.

Although his expression remained unreadable, inwardly Erik felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Christine had always been so innocent, so good and cheerful, delighting in the world around her. To think that he might have infected her with his evil somehow and driven that beautiful creature of the light to take her own life was more than he could bear. He had hardly dared to touch her in the ten years in which he had been her angel for his fear of that very thing.

How could he have been so selfish as to ask for her love? His own mother could not bear to touch him or even look at him. She too had taken her own life in guilt shortly after his birth, feeling responsible for the evil she had created. He had thought that by releasing Christine to the vicomte he could undo the damage to her that he had invariably done. But now it was clear that the mere contact with his polluted soul had irrevocably tainted hers with darkness.

Uncaring about the power it gave to his adversary, Erik lowered his head into his hands in defeat. Seeing his enemy's surrender, Raoul allowed himself a tiny smile of victory. He had once more brought this powerful man low, and he relished the display of weakness he had wrought.

Erik's eyes were bright with unshed tears as he raised his face. His voice was low and breaking when he spoke at last. "Christine is upstairs in the second bedroom to the right. Her medication is on the bedside table, and her personal items are in the wardrobe." Raoul nodded and turned to leave, but Erik's desperate voice called after him.

"Vicomte, wait, there is one request I make of you." Raoul stood with his hand on the door.

"Tell Christine that she has my word that I will never...I will never seek to see her or harm her ever again. Tell her that I...I truly wish for her happiness, and I will leave the city if that is what she wishes in order that she may feel...safe." Erik's face was filled with wretched misery as he once again turned his beloved over to the hands of his enemy.

Raoul was shocked at the sudden obvious humanity of the figure before him. Up until now, he had always seen him as a monster, devoid of any virtuous human emotion. But as he looked upon his broken form, he realized that this was indeed a man, and a man that truly loved Christine in his own misguided fashion. His feelings for her were not simply the obsession of a madman, as he had always believed. And as Raoul nodded and turned to leave, he realized that made him all the more dangerous.

He left Erik in the den and proceeded quickly up the staircase. When he reached the doorway to her room, he hesitated for a moment and then stepped inside. She was turned on her side now, curled like a child on the bed, her sleeping face relaxed and peaceful.

Raoul walked over and looked down at her, brushing her hair back from her face. She did not open her eyes, but smiled at the touch of his hand. He felt his heart begin to swell. God help him, he loved her despite it all. He wrapped the blankets tightly around her and scooped her into his arms. She did not wake, but leaned her head easily into his chest, snuggling into the fabric of his coat.

As he carried her down the staircase toward the front door, he could see out of the corner of his eye a dark figure in the shadows. He could not help but allow a look of triumph to cross his face as he thought about the anguish his rival must be feeling watching him carrying his beloved away snuggled happily in his arms. Perhaps his victory would not be empty this time. Perhaps now Christine would love him with her whole heart at last. She seemed so content in his arms, pressing into him with unusual affection.

As he stepped out the door and heard it close behind him, she stirred, murmuring something against his chest. He smiled and leaned his ear down toward her mouth to hear what she was saying. His eyes closed in pain as he made out one heart rending word – _Angel_.

He knew then that the only person he had truly deceived that night had been himself.


	7. Letting Go

**A/N: **Yay! I'm so happy to be back. Lots of review replies to catch up on - sorry. Feel free to apply scroll bar liberally as needed. I will try to spread them out a little after this.

Twinkle22: Welcome! Glad you like it and thanks for reviewing. I try to update every morning, but life sometimes gets in the way (like today). Never fear, I pledge not to abandon this fic and leave you hanging. If you need something to keep you occupied between updates and you are a hopeless romantic/fervent EC shipper like me, you might want to check out my other fic. That one is complete. Once again, welcome aboard!

ackari smith: I think our dear Daroga will be able to explain for you in this chapter how our brilliant Erik could have been fooled by the desperate Vicomte. Erik is a very sensitive and emotionally passionate man. Though his mind is brilliant, the intensity of his feelings tend to cloud his judgment from time to time – think crashing chandelier...

Pertie: So glad to have you back, dear! Thank _you_ for taking your valuable time to read and respond to my "creative efforts". And don't worry, I promised you at the beginning this was going to be a long one.

Jema Moda: Yes, there will be no sympathy for Raoul anytime soon. But he will pay, oh yes, he will pay for his scumminess, have no fear. Oh, and Christine will be rejoining the land of the living right about...next chapter. Sorry! By the way, you hit the nail right on the head when you said he played right into Erik's own fears. (See my response above to ackari smith.)

erikfan: That important detail we were discussing that I have not yet mentioned– I have included it in this chapter, just for you. It actually plays a very important role. Read on, and you will see.

The Eccentric Poet: Don't you just love Erik when he is verbally abusing someone? Twisted, I know. I too love the idea of minds locked in combat and all the psychological/verbal warfare. It is so much fun to write! And don't worry, I didn't take offense. Reviewing is for expressing your opinion. I just like to explain my rationale in response to other people's comments so you all know why I do things the way I do. You have given me so many wonderful compliments, I really cannot complain at all!

phantomann: Yay! My favorite reviewer is back! I'm not exactly sure what Erik plushies are, but I know other authors give them out on this site, so I am going to have to find some for all these loyal reviewers. And don't worry, Raoul will pay. (See my comments above to Jema Moda.)

_**When Fate is Denied**_

**Ch. 7 - Letting Go**

Nadir was worried. He raised his fist and knocked for the third time on the door of the den, but still received no answer. The Persian had watched from the hallway minutes before as the vicomte had carried the young woman away. Erik had been noticeably absent. It didn't seem natural for his friend to let something so important to him slip away so easily, especially considering the circumstances in which the young woman had arrived. Nadir had half envisioned a bloody confrontation in the foyer, ending with him being forced to dispose of the vicomte's body and then aiding Erik and his lady in their escape from the city.

He stepped back from the door, giving up the effort for the moment. _Perhaps Erik was becoming more reasonable with age._ Nadir snorted at the ridiculousness of his own thought. Erik would always be Erik – brilliant, but volatile. No, something the vicomte said must have convinced him that it was in Christine's best interest to let her go. That was the only logical explanation.

The Persian's forehead wrinkled in both thought and distrust. The expression on the vicomte's face as he had strode out the door with his prize had been far too smug, especially considering he had emerged only moments before from a heated confrontation with Erik. Nadir's eyes opened wide, as he began to wonder if his friend had been seriously injured, or even killed during the encounter. He knew Erik would never allow an enemy such a triumph as Nadir had witnessed on the stairs if it was in his power to avoid it. Normally, he would have wiped the insolent expression from his rival's face with his own blood.

Nadir returned to the door of the den and increased the forcefulness of his knocking, continuing to escalate the volume until he was pounding relentlessly on the fine, dark wood. He paused for a moment to shout through the door, "Erik! Erik, answer me or I will believe you to be injured and I shall be forced to break down your expensive imported mahogany door." He continued his pounding. "Erik!" When there was still no response, he shouted, "I gave you fair warning, my friend." Despite how angry he knew Erik would be even if he knew the Persian's efforts were intended to save his life, Nadir stepped back and lowered his shoulder, fully prepared to do what he had threatened.

Just as he began to race toward the door, it opened slightly. Having been prepared to meet three inches of solid mahogany, Nadir was thrown off balance as his shoulder met only air. He caught himself, however, before he could fall in an undignified heap on the floor of the den. Straightening, he stared with wonder at a completely composed Erik sitting unharmed behind his desk, looking placidly at the Persian as if he had most certainly lost his mind.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are not aware of our customs here in Paris, Daroga, but normally when someone does not answer the door, it means he or she does not wish to be disturbed." He lowered his eyes back down to the papers in front of him on the desk.

Nadir would not be deterred so easily. "You let her go."

Erik did not look up, but instead began to scrawl something on an envelope. "Obviously."

Nadir knew he was entering into dangerous territory, but he pressed on. "Surely you demanded first that he explain her condition?"

Erik's eyes snapped up. "Of course I did."

Nadir stared at him incredulously. "And you were satisfied with his explanation?"

Erik looked away, but his face remained unreadable. "Yes."

Something was not making sense. What possible explanation could the vicomte have given to make Erik release the most precious thing in his world back to him so easily after all that he had seen of her unhappiness? Nadir persisted. "And the scars on her wrists?"

Erik's voice was low, but held an unmistakable warning. "It is none of your concern, Daroga."

Nadir sighed and sat down heavily upon the fine leather sofa that the vicomte had vacated less than an hour before.

The Persian's voice was weary when he spoke again. "Erik, of course it is of concern to me. Did I not spend half the night helping you to save her life?" His voice softened. "And what of you, my friend? You are of concern to me as well. It must have been difficult for you to let her go."

Erik gave a hollow laugh, "Actually, I'm becoming quite good at it."

Despite his flippant manner, Nadir could sense the raw pain behind the words.

Erik stood up and walked to the window. Staring out at the street, he watched enviously as the happy families below went about their daily lives. He wondered if they were aware what a blessing it was to be normal. If only he had been born like them. How wonderful it would have been to be able to court Christine like an ordinary man - to take her out to dinner or for a walk in the park on a bright Sunday afternoon. Eventually they would have been married. Perhaps they would even have had children in time. They could have grown old together.

Erik drew back from the window and noticed suddenly the white reflection of his mask taunting him from the glass. But for what lay beneath it and the complications it had wrought, he knew without a doubt that he and Christine would have been soul mates. He could have made her happy. And he knew exactly why the vicomte had failed to do so: that ridiculous boy treated her as a china doll to dress up and admire, to display for the world to see. The dashing vicomte had never made any attempt to see who Christine was beyond the beauty of her face. He had never taken the time to listen to the dreams she had for her future, to look at her face as she watched the sunrise, or to understand how music filled her very soul. He wouldn't know that her favorite part of the day was the twilight just between day and night when the sunlight fell golden on the rooftops, or that she always twisted a strand of her hair around her finger when she was reading a particularly engrossing novel.

Erik shook his head in disgust. Christine would never be all she was meant to be with the vicomte. He would strip her of her music and all of her individuality. In time, she would become just another overdressed socialite, painted and primped on the outside, dead and hollow within. Erik' jaw clenched. It seemed such a cruel trick of Fate to grant him all the keys to her happiness and his own save one – a normal face.

In helpless frustration, Erik slammed his fist against the glass. He stood watching in fascination as a crack formed down the center of his reflection, making it appear even more fractured and asymmetrical. It seemed symbolic to him somehow. He was a half-breed, sliced down the center of his face and his very soul: a demon longing for heaven, an angel trapped in hell. Capable of such great love, yet his love held only the capacity to destroy.

He dropped his head into his hands, tears flowing through his fingers. The only person in the world who had ever earned that love would take her own life just to be free of him. The guilt and anguish of the thought nearly cleft his poisoned heart in two. Leaning his head against the fractured glass, his shoulders at last began to shake with sobs.

Nadir watched his friend's inner battle from across the room, knowing he had long since been forgotten. The Persian knew it would probably be best to leave Erik alone in his grief, but he also felt great sympathy for this complicated man who seemed so powerful and yet so fragile at the same time. True, Erik had innumerable faults and had committed countless sins, yet Nadir often wondered if there was anyone alive who had the right to judge his actions. Who could say what any man would become after enduring all that the man before him had been forced too? And how must it feel to always bear that suffering alone.

Knowing it could very well mean his doom, Nadir crossed the room to lay a wide, calloused hand on Erik's shoulder. To his astonishment, Erik did not pull away, but instead chose to confide his most recent burden. "It is not the Vicomte who is killing her Nadir," he whispered brokenly, "It is me. She...she fears me. My face haunts her dreams. She...she thinks even now I will take her away."

Nadir raised his eyebrows, but did not speak. Something about this explanation did not ring true to his ears. Certainly Erik's appearance beneath the mask was disturbing, but from what Erik had told him, he and Christine had spent a good deal of time together even after she had seen him revealed. He supposed it was possible that on the night of the opera fire, once she had been exposed to the more harsh and violent side of Erik's nature, that she had become frightened of him. Still, by Erik's account, even after she had been free to leave, she had returned alone to give him her engagement ring. That seemed more like an act of affection, or compassion at the very least - hardly an act of fear. And if Christine was truly afraid of Erik, why would she seek him out as she had done last night, especially without the knowledge of her husband?

Nadir's forehead wrinkled in thought. Erik was normally very clever at sensing the deception of another. However, the Persian mused, it was entirely possible that the vicomte had exploited the two chinks in his adversary's otherwise impenetrable armor of genius - Christine and his own insecurities.

After many moments, Erik raised his head and drew in a deep breath. He seemed once more to come back to himself, though his posture conveyed only weary defeat.

Sensing his chance, Nadir asked softly, "My friend, how can you be certain that all the Vicomte told you was the truth? Lies are frequently a weapon of the desperate – those who have the most to gain...or the most to lose."

Erik looked away, resignation evident in the slump of his strong shoulders. "What choice do I have? If Christine were to end her life because of me it would be as if I had plunged a dagger into my own heart a thousand times over." He sighed, then turned to meet the Persian's dark eyes with the sad gray of his own. "I have committed many sins during my lifetime, Daroga, but that is one that I will not allow of myself."

"So you are letting her go once and for all."

"It is what is best for her," Erik said softly.

Nadir patted him gently on the back and then walked to the door. He reached out to open it, then paused and turned back to look at Erik for a moment, a bemused expression upon his face.

"You know, my friend, up until now I might have agreed with you. But somehow the fact that you were willing to let her go, makes me think somehow you shouldn't have."

Erik stared at him in surprise, but there would be no further explanation for his cryptic words. The Persian turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.


	8. Choices

**A/N: **New chapter time! Headline reads: Christine Regains Consciousness at last! (Out for seven chapters. That has got to be a record.)

erikfan: Don't be nervous, I won't forsake you. "Plotmaster" – Oooh! I like that title, maybe a little too much. It gives me a feeling of power, almost Erikesque back in his Phantom days. Hmmmm...the Plotmaster...yes...

Pertie: Thanks for the lovely compliments once again. I liked that last chapter too, for some reason. Perhaps it is because we get to see Erik's tender, romantic side - another of my favorites out of his many varied personas. Oh heck, I love them all, really.

phantomann: I love Nadir too. Strangely, I always picture him as Morgan Freeman in Robin Hood, the one with Kevin Costner. Sort of a kind, wise soul and very brave with a large heart. And no, I am not hiding Erik under my bed or anything, although I think I may have fallen in love with him. Hmmm. Perhaps that is why I seem to find his mind so easily. Ouija him, hey, that is not a bad idea! (Author knocks over chair in haste to find an open store.)

Twinkle22: I know. Isn't he perfect in a volatile, unpredictable, sweep you off your feet and take you to his lair kind of way? And yet, such a true romantic hero, capable of the purest unselfish love, as you pointed out. Our Erik is indeed a most intriguing and alluring paradox.

Jema Moda: Glad you liked it. Yes, he is indeed anguished right now, and it pains me to leave him that way for a time. But rest assured that he will be happy again one day. (Author is an admitted E/C shipper. Hold tight to that knowledge.) For now though, we move on to the anguish of the other two members of this desperate love triangle. You wanted me to make Raoul suffer, so the next few chapters we will be swimming in his angst for a while.

leonsalanna: Welcome to the fic! Glad to have you aboard. Yeah, I know. Raoul does ruin everything. But he will get his, don't worry. And it bothers me a little too that brilliant Erik would believe him, but if you look back at my author's notes for the last chapter, you will see that Raoul is able to play into Erik's own insecurities with his lie. Erik also tells Nadir in Ch. 7 that he is not willing to risk being the one to cause Christine to take her own life. He would give up any possibility of his own happiness rather than take a chance that he might cause her pain. Now that's love.

**Ch. 8 – Choices**

Raoul discarded his coat and sank wearily into his chair. The past weeks had been very long and difficult indeed. The recent upheaval in his home life had spilled over into his business life as well. Between enduring Philippe's constant lectures and carefully avoiding his wife's attempts to discuss the events of that horrible night, now two weeks past, he found himself utterly exhausted.

Philippe had of course learned of Christine's late night excursion, and it had only served to strengthen his belief that Raoul should waste no more time in putting her aside and finding a real wife – a woman this time of breeding and refinement who would at last give Raoul an heir as a proper wife should. To further complicate matters, several family business ventures that had recently come under Raoul's supervision had taken a turn for the worse, further fueling Philippe's belief that his brother's mentally unstable wife was becoming a dangerous distraction from more important matters.

Raoul sighed. Philippe had never approved of his marriage to Christine, nor had the majority of his family. That fact had been a constant strain on his marriage, and a great source of sadness to both him and his wife. She had never truly felt welcome among them, though he had done his best to make her as comfortable as possible in their presence. In his desperation, Raoul had at one time even considered denying his family and his title, and simply running away with her to some far off place where they could just be husband and wife, instead of the illustrious Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Chagny.

Raoul laid his head back against the expensive leather of his chair. The problem was, he thought, even if he were to give up everything for her, it still wouldn't change the fact that his wife was in love with another man and had been throughout their marriage and even before. His home, his family, his title, his money, his friends, his way of life – he was willing to lay it all aside if Christine would only give herself to him completely, finally closing her heart and mind to the dark figure who had resided there for so long.

True, Christine had been honest with him concerning her feelings when she had agreed to marry him. And she had, at least in body, been true to her word. Outwardly, Christine was nothing if not a faithful, devoted wife. She accompanied him to every social event, smiling and conversing pleasantly with his friends and relatives, knowing full well that they despised her. She was a conscientious mistress of his home and was always attentive to his needs, though admittedly her affection was of a friendly nature.

She had even willingly given him her body, though he had never once felt a trace of the passion that he had seen burning in her eyes so clearly when she had been on stage with her _Angel _the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. In fact, if he were to be honest with himself, the vast majority of the time in their marriage bed she seemed to be patiently enduring his affections, and the remainder of the time she seemed to be wishing he were someone else entirely. The thought sickened him. He wondered briefly why he even bothered to go to such lengths to keep her, when it was becoming so very clear that she wanted nothing more than to be free.

Raoul stood up and walked over to the open window staring down into the gardens below. The spring breeze was warm, and the evening sunshine fell golden over the trees, illuminating a lone figure seated upon a garden bench. The slanting rays ignited the auburn of her curls with flashes of red-gold, and though most of her face was hidden from view, he could see that she was smiling. She was so beautiful and so innocent. His heart gave a familiar tug. No, he wouldn't give her up, not yet. Even this strange half-life that he was living with Christine now had to be better than a life without her.

Sighing in resignation, he ran a hand through his hair and reached for his jacket. No matter how much he might dread it, the time had come for him and his wife to sort through the wreckage of their marriage and decide whether or not there was anything left to salvage.

He still was uncertain how he was going to explain the events of a fortnight past. His mind was not accustomed to deception, and he found it wearied him to no end. But if it came down to lying to his wife or losing her forever, Raoul knew which option he would be forced to accept.

Reaching the door, he hesitated, then began his slow descent to the gardens below. His reluctant stride seemed strangely reminiscent of a man being led to the gallows.

Christine sat in the garden, her face turned up to the last dying rays of the evening sun. She loved the time just after sunset when the golden light of the day began to merge with the gentle purple haze of the night, combining in an array of muted colors that were a strange, glorious highbred of the two. The world took on a unique splendor in the twilight; its gentle illumination seemed to highlight only the beauty while blurring all the harsh edges that were so clearly exposed in the daylight. In an odd sort of way, its forgiving touch seemed symbolic of the light in which she saw _him_, somehow.

Her heart constricted painfully at the thought of her Angel. She had been so close to seeing him! But once again her own weakness had kept her from his arms. She thought of that night with both a thrill and a shudder. Parts of it she could remember clearly, as if they had only just occurred, and other parts were hazy or blank altogether.

She clearly remembered how it had all begun. She had been digging for a hairpin that she had dropped accidentally into the drawer of her armoire. As her fingers searched its dark recesses, she had felt a narrow strip of satin that seemed out of place amongst the cotton of her nightdresses and the silk of her stockings. Grasping it blindly, she had withdrawn it rather clumsily from beneath her folded garments. To her astonishment, her fingers emerged entangled in a long, black ribbon.

She knew with certainty that she had never purchased such a ribbon, and Raoul would never have bought her one in that particular color knowing full well the significance that it would have held for her.

The only logical explanation had seemed to be that the ribbon must have been left by someone who had stayed in the room at one time prior to her arrival - Raoul's mother or one of his aunts, perhaps. But the more she considered it, another possibility had ripened in her mind. Her hands shaking, she had lifted the ribbon to her face and inhaled deeply.

Immediately it was as if she had been transported back in time to another world. Her mind swam with the scent of roses and candles, the fine fabric of his clothes, and the wonderful heady mixture of exotic scents that were utterly foreign to her except for the fact that he had always smelled of them. It was as if the lands of his travels had clung to him in their scent, and when combined with the distinctive smell of the opera house that she loved, the mixture was more intoxicating to her than the most expensive cologne could ever be. It was as if everything she adored and everything she dreamed existed in the mere scent of him alone.

As the memories had overtaken her, she had fallen to the floor, weeping, her skirts billowing around her.

Then she had remembered the date. Six years ago to the day she had made the choice that had inevitably sealed her fate. She had left the man and the world she loved - all for the promise of safety and security, which she had ironically found to be highly overrated.

It had been her choice to leave him there in his anguish, to allow him to believe that she cared nothing for him, that she wanted a life with Raoul. She had been weak-willed, an indecisive fool. Because she had not been able to imagine a future with her passionate and volatile Angel, she had left him, foolishly thinking she had made the wiser choice in the steadfast predictability of Raoul and his placid devotion.

It had taken all of one night away from her Angel's magnetic presence to realize her terrible mistake, and two more for her to find the courage to admit it to Raoul. But in a twist of Fate that was only as much as she had deserved for her selfishness, she had returned to find him gone.

Disappointed, she had told herself that he would come and find her, forgiving her as he always did and then all would be made right. Her desperate hopes had been crushed brutally by the newspaper headline the following morning. "_Mysterious Phantom of the Opera Found Dead Beneath the Opera Populaire_".

It was then that she had finally lost her fragile grip on sanity, when she had realized that he was indeed never coming back, and worse, that she had ultimately betrayed him to his death. The guilt and the anguish that had overtaken her had been overwhelming in their intensity. And when she had considered the prospect of a lifetime without his voice, his touch, his powerful protective presence, her future had seemed to her an endless expanse of barren desert, a burden too heavy to bear. She had calmly stepped into the expensive porcelain bath of her suite, and slit her wrists without a second thought.

As she had lain there, awaiting her life to spill forth from her veins, she had wondered vaguely on what plane she would find him. Most likely she would not find him in heaven but in hell, as she knew her Angel had taken many lives. By taking her own, she was certain to join him. The thought made her smile.

But her attempt that first time had been thwarted. Raoul had come home early to find her, and to her regret a doctor had been able to pull her back reluctantly from the welcoming darkness.

After that, she had fallen into a sort of ambivalent detachment, unconcerned with her own future, a burden she bore now against her will. It was as if Raoul had pinned down her wings by forcing her to promise never to attempt to fly to her Angel ever again.

She had even agreed to marry him, finding it comforting to allow someone else to take responsibility for an existence she no longer desired. It was of no great concern to her anymore what man called her his wife, or kissed her goodnight, or entered her body for that matter, for it could never be the man whom she wanted.

But every so often, the weight of her choices fell especially heavy upon on her heart and mind, so that she was forced to break her promise to her husband and attempt once more to free herself from the gilded prison of her life. Most recently, after having discovered the ribbon and feeling the torrent of memories it had unleashed, she had once again found her weary soul begging for release from the lie it had been forced to live.

It wasn't just the thought of her Angel and the life she could have had, or her guilt in his betrayal. It was every choice since that day six years ago as well whose consequences she found herself unable to bear. She had somehow allowed herself over the years to be stripped of all that had made her who she was: her laughter, her music, her dreams, her personality, her freedom. She felt all at once suffocated by the familiar, stifling realization that all she had endured had been brought about by her own hand.

Feeling a giddy sort of relief that she at least had the power to end the chain of poor decisions that had characterized her wasted life, she had begun to search the house for a means to secure her freedom. Finally, she had discovered a large bottle of sedatives hidden in Raoul's top desk drawer, but to her dismay she had found the bottle to be nearly empty. She took every one, but feared it would not be enough. She did not want to fail in her attempt this time and be dragged unwilling back to the land of the living once again.

She had then checked the other drawers finding nothing. Reaching the last one, she had given it a desperate tug, but it held fast. Frantically, she had searched the others and finally found a tiny silver key. With hope in her heart, she had quickly unlocked the drawer and found, to her disappointment, only a large number of important looking documents. She dug through them, flinging them carelessly on the floor in her search.

She would have left them there without a second thought, had she not noticed one word staring out at her from the topmost page: _Phantom_. Then, her heart had begun to race and she had picked up a fistful, scanning them hurriedly. It took her only a few moments to realize that she had been a fool. But an even greater realization had come as she began to comprehend the meaning of what she held in her hand: he was alive and he was here in Paris. The address was printed neatly at the bottom of the page.

She had stood up, intending to waste no further time in finding him, but a wave of violent nausea had hit her full force, knocking her back to her knees and reminding her of her previous actions. _No! Oh God, no! Not now! S_he had thought. The irony of it would be too painfully beautiful: she would finally succeed in her attempts to leave this world on the very night when she had discovered the one thing that would make her wish to stay.

With grim determination, she had begun to pull herself to her feet. She would not be weak this time. If she were going to die, it would be in her Angel's arms.

Somehow she had managed to find her cloak and make it to the stable. She had given the driver the address and promised a large sum of money to persuade him to act against his master's wishes and allow his lady to go out alone at night. During the carriage ride, the sedatives had begun to take over. She had found herself drifting in and out of consciousness and with each bump of the wheels on the rough cobblestone, she had felt her stomach heave painfully.

It had fortunately not been far to the address and she eventually felt the carriage draw to a halt. Shaking herself roughly to will her limp limbs into obedience, she had emerged shakily from the carriage with the driver's help. She had ordered him to return home, reminding him of his master's certain anger if he were to learn of the driver's aid in her flight. With every last ounce of her strength, she had forced her failing limbs to carry her across the street to her Angel's door and had managed to ring the bell before everything finally went dark.

After that point, all of her memories were jumbled and confused. She could only remember bits and pieces: a gentle hand holding a cool cloth to her forehead, an achingly familiar voice, someone carrying her down the stairs... She could sense that her Angel had been with her somewhere in the darkness, though her recollections were so vague she could not be certain. Awaking back in her own bed, after all that she had done to ensure that she would never be forced to return to it, had been the greatest disappointment of all.

Eventually, she had recovered to the point where she felt she would be capable of confronting Raoul. Resolved to find what had transpired that night, she had sought him out many times, but always he had found an excuse to avoid her questions and her accusing eyes. Part of her felt guilt for all that she had put him through, but a growing part felt he deserved what he had wrought by his own selfishness and dishonesty.

Sighing, she knew the time had come to put an end to their charade of a marriage. But first, she had to find out what had truly happened on the night she had finally sought her Angel.

She could see Raoul walking slowly towards her now across the garden from the house. His face held a look of both resigned misery and desperation, like a cornered animal.

Their eyes met. Christine knew that the time had come to lay open the wounds of their marriage to the light of day so that they both might begin to heal at last.


	9. A Bitter End

**A/N: **Boy, you guys must really like conflict, because you were all chomping at the bit to get to the down and dirty confrontation between Christine and Raoul. Well, here it is, and by the way, there is a little bonus for our dear Vicomte included. Let's just say he gets what he deserves for talking "_smack"_ about our beloved Erik. Something I have wanted to do to him since I first saw the movie. You will see! (Evil cackle ensues)

lafemme540: Thank you and welcome. I will endeavor in every chapter to ensure that this story does in fact become one of your favorites.

phantomann: Since you begged so shamelessly, this extra post tonight is just for you. You will notice that I am posting at 11:30 PM CDT, so technically it is still arriving in day on which you requested it. Yay! You caught the twilight thing! I was so hoping someone would. That is why I love having you as a reader so much. Erik mentions that Christine loves twilight, and now we know why – because it reminds her of Erik!

Pertie: I appreciate the compliment regarding my writing style. I certainly try to make it "flow" as you said. I am glad you felt I was successful in my attempt.

diveprincess: Thank you! Welcome to the fic. Glad you are enjoying it, because I am enjoying writing it.

erikfan: Oh no! We have lost erikfan. Come back, beloved reviewer. We miss you!

Twinkle22: They are not going to be very nice to each other, I can promise you that. Raoul will get his just reward for his general sliminess in this chapter.

Jema Moda: (a.k.a. eriksbeloved) Reviewing under another name, posting reviews twice in one chapter, pressuring your poor author who is typing her fingers to the bone – Shame on you! But it is okay because I love it. Review to your heart's content. You can review ten times a chapter if you want. But remember, Jema dear, patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait, yada yada yada...and all those other proverbial admonishments to the impatient. (Wink)

xo-little-lotte-xo: Welcome and thanks! Glad you like it. Yes, I know the last chapter was a little long, but my chapters tend to vary a lot in length because I prefer to base them on segments of related action, rather than a set number of words. It is just part of my quirky writing style I guess, so bear with me. I will try and make them more even in the future.

**Ch. 9 – A Bitter End (**Don't let the chapter title fool you. Yes, this chapter is the end of something, but it is not the end of the fic by any means.)

Despite how much he dreaded the inevitable confrontation to follow, as he approached Christine in the garden Raoul could not help but notice once again how lovely she appeared in the gentle light of the setting sun.

"You're looking much better, darling." He managed a weak smile as he bent to kiss Christine's forehead, but she turned away at the last second so that his lips met only the top her head.

"Let's not bother to pretend that is all is well tonight, Raoul," Christine replied, "It wearies me."

He sighed heavily and sat down beside her on the bench. "Is there something you wish to discuss, my dear?"

"You lied to me," she said quietly.

He made no attempt to deny it, sensing it would be useless to try. "Yes."

She turned to face him, searching his eyes. "Why?"

"Darling, I was trying to protect you." Raoul reached out a hand to touch her face, but Christine pushed it away, standing abruptly.

"To protect me or to protect yourself? You knew that I would never marry you knowing he was alive." She was at last beginning to understand all that her husband was capable of in the name of holding onto that which he believed to be his, and her accusation was blatant.

Raoul rose slowly, his eyes pleading. "Please, darling, I knew you would never be happy with him. You deserved so much more than he could ever hope to give you. The man is a lunatic. He is a murderer, a _monster_, Christine!"

Without warning, her hand struck him hard across the cheek. "Don't you _ever_ call him that again," she hissed.

Raoul stared at her in surprise, his eyes still watering from the blow.

Anger, however, quickly overcame his momentary shock and his face colored with disgust. "Even now you defend him," he spat incredulously. "After all I have given you and after all he has done, still you pine for him like a bitch dog in heat."

Her hand flew up to strike him again, but he caught it this time before it could make contact with his skin. "Do not pretend to be so scandalized, my dear. You forget I saw you that night on the stage with your lover," he snarled into her ear.

She turned abruptly to leave him, but he gripped her arm roughly and spun her around to face him, shaking her in his wounded anguish. "I have heard you in your dreams, Christine. Calling out _his_ name when you are lying in _my _arms!" His voice now was raw with pain.

"Let me go." She spoke the words through her clenched teeth, and he thrust her from him.

Christine stepped back, eyes flashing. "At least I was honest with you. I warned you long before we were married that my heart would always belong to another. But even then you could not bear to lose, not to him. I became no more than the spoils of war in the battle between his shadow and your bruised ego!"

Her words cut him like a knife and all the air fled from his lungs. _Was it true_? He wondered fleetingly. Certainly his pride had suffered a blow at the idea that Christine would choose a murdering maniac with half a face over him. Had marrying her merely been the ultimate victory over the rival he loathed? Perhaps in part, but that had most definitely not been the only reason. He adored everything about Christine, every part of her except the part that belonged to her Angel. That part of her he feared he would never truly understand.

His anger faded as quickly as it had come and his shoulders slumped like that of a soldier who had taken a mortal wound. "Christine," he pleaded, "Please believe me. I have loved you since we were children. I know I haven't done everything right. I...I have hurt you and I have behaved like a...like a jealous fool. But you must know how I adore you." His eyes begged for her understanding, for her forgiveness.

Christine kept the distance between them, but her face softened. "It was wrong of me to accept your love when I knew I could never truly return it. I am truly sorry for how I have hurt you, Raoul." She reached out and gently touched his cheek. "It has worn heavily on both of us, living this lie," she said quietly.

Raoul sensed somehow that the final straining thread holding together their tattered marriage had snapped at last. He lowered his head in defeat. "What happens now, Christine?" he asked softly.

She smiled gently. "Now? Now we give each other the chance to find the happiness that we could never find together."

Tears filled Raoul's eyes at the sudden radiance that lit her face. Though it killed him to admit it, the closer he came to releasing her, the brighter she seemed to shine. Standing there acknowledging the end of their marriage, she looked happier than she had on their wedding day. In the end, it was that look of joy and excitement, as if she were a bird about to be released from its cage that forced him to let her go. He surrendered to Fate at last.

Raoul swallowed hard and looked away. "You plan to seek him out?"

"Yes," came her quiet reply.

"Then you should know that he has left the city." Raoul blinked back the tears that were flooding his eyes. He felt as if he were ripping his heart from his chest, as he reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew an envelope of the finest paper with a crimson seal. His hand shook slightly as he handed it to Christine.

Christine's heart leapt in her chest as she opened it and saw for the first time in six years her Angel's elegant, flowing script.

_My dearest Christine,_

_I want you to know that I am leaving France. You have my word that I shall not return. I sincerely hope my absence will assure you that you have nothing to fear from me anymore._

_Yours always,_

_Angel _

Filled with angry tears, her eyes flew up to Raoul's in bitter accusation. "What did you tell him," she whispered.

Raoul looked away. She would despise him if he told her. Even if he had never truly earned her love, he couldn't bear her hatred.

He hesitated. "I told him that you feared him. That you were afraid he would take you away." It was only half of the truth, but at least it wasn't a lie.

Christine's eyes became wild. Blindly, she flung herself at him, beating her fists against his chest. "How could you! How _could _you!" she hissed. "After all he has been through, after all the ignorance and cruelty he has endured! How could you make him think that I feared him like the rest?"

Raoul grasped her assailing hands, holding them tightly until she finally ceased to struggle. She raised her anguished eyes once more to his. "How could you let him think for even one moment that I see him as the monster everyone else has always thought him to be?" she whispered.

Raoul released her and she backed slowly away from him. The look in her eyes told him clearly that she would never see him the same way again. He shrunk back from the judgment of her gaze.

"I'm so sorry that I have hurt you," he whispered brokenly.

"But you are not sorry for what you have done to him." Her tone was glacial.

Raoul's eyes flashed, his anger igniting once more. "I will _never_ have any sympathy for that creature!" he seethed, "He has taken everything from me!"

Christine stared at him coldly. "If you are referring to my heart, it never belonged to you in the first place." She had delivered the final crushing blow: speaking at last the bitter words that he had always known, but had never been able to admit, even to himself.

As he stared wretchedly into her face, he noticed that for the first time in his life he could see no trace of the friendly affection she had always held for him in her eyes. All that he had done to force that affection to become something more, had in the end, only twisted it beyond recognition, leaving anger and disappointment in its place.

That knowledge was more than he could bear. "God forgive me for what I have done," he whispered brokenly.

Christine turned to leave, then paused to look back at him over her shoulder for a moment. "God is indeed likely to be more forgiving than the one whose wrath you will be facing now." She lifted her long skirts above the damp grass and walked away without looking back.

Raoul sank heavily onto the bench, watching miserably as Christine disappeared into the darkness that had long since fallen. He noticed in morbid fascination how easily it embraced her.


	10. Diverging Paths

**A/N: **I hope the confrontation was all you hoped it would be. And now as some of you mentioned, Christine is going to have to chase Erik for a change. About the black ribbon: in my mind, the ribbon had come with Christine unnoticed from the opera house and had simply been put away with her clothing in the dresser when she moved into the de Chagny household. Remember, I did say it was in the "dark recesses" of the drawer. You know, kind of like finding cereal underneath your couch cushions, only much more romantic. The fact that she happened to find it on that particular day was just a coincidence. Or maybe it was Fate...

**One more quick note. In this fic, Erik's mother did indeed commit suicide shortly after his birth, but I am thinking three or four years after, so he does remember her.**

lafemme540: Hearing that you have been so affected by my story is one of the most wonderful compliments you could give me. So thank you, milady, thank you. (I am assuming you are female, judging by your screen name.) And the chapter title was simply referring to the "bitter end" of Christine and Raoul's marriage, not the fic. There is so much more to come! We haven't even gotten to all the EC fluff yet.

ilustgerik: Me too. Your screen name I mean. And you shall have _more_, much more.

phantomann: Yes, Christine does indeed have a spine. Shocking isn't it? Thankfully, she will become more familiar with it as the fic goes on. And technically, Raoul did not call Christine a bch. I quote myself from the previous chapter: "And yet you pine for him like a btch dog in heat." I couldn't quite picture Raoul saying the b-word to her face no matter how angry he was, so I made it more of a simile; although comparing her to a dog isn't much better. Oh, and Erik slap Raoul? I have a feeling Erik would have a hard time restraining himself to something so civilized. Now hanging him from the rafters by his own entrails – that sounds more befitting of our Erik. Perhaps the two should meet in a dark alley someday, no witnesses around of course, hmmm...the idea has potential...

Pertie: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And you are most welcome!

diveprincess: Good, because here is the next chapter!

Captain Oblivious: Ah, your illustrious name precedes you. I am honored that you have joined the fic. Unfortunately, my limited ability to read French (one semester in college), is far surpassed by your obvious talent to write it. (Although just to see it in print was a treat. It is so beautiful!) I think the general tone of your response was positive, from what I could tell, so I thank you. And if it wasn't, well, then please forgive me and I really feel like an uncultured idiot.

erikfan: I'm sorry if I sounded impatient. I was just doing all my normal review replies and came to your screen name, realizing I hadn't heard from you for a while, and I kind of missed ya. Thank you so much for the compliments and I am glad the confrontation was all you hoped it to be. I am honored that I am part of the way you start your day.

Twinkle22: I was relieved to hear that you have gotten over that sympathy-for-Raoul stuff. We can't have that in this crowd of Erik lovers. Anyway, as you say, on to the EC stuff!

Jema Moda: Careful now. Did Raoul really own up to _everything_? Wasn't there one tiny detail that he failed to mention? He gave Christine a rather oversimplified version of what he really said to Erik. Raoul calls it a "half-truth" rather than a lie. Check it out. Christine still has one more detail of Raoul's "scumminess" to discover, but that revelation won't take place for a while yet. Ah yes, crippling truths. Her words truly are the death knell of their marriage, aren't they? And yes, that line from the movie always rips out my heart as well. Perhaps I should have Christine explain that phrase in a better light later on in the fic. Those words do seem like a sticking point that needs explaining.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Thank you. If there was one adjective I would hope someone would use to describe my writing style, it would indeed be 'elegant'. You have given me a great compliment.

**Ch. 10 – Diverging Paths**

Christine smoothed the wrinkles from her pale yellow dress. Even though she knew her Angel would not be there, standing on the doorstep of his former home sent a wave of expectant electricity through her veins.

She raised her hand and knocked, praying that her hunch was right. Christine was certain that her Angel would not have been able to sell his Paris residence in such a short period of time, so it seemed logical that he would leave a trusted servant to look after it until a sale could be arranged. And whoever that was would no doubt have a means of contacting the owner. She hoped to convince the caretaker to share that information with her.

A shadow appeared behind the glass, and Christine smiled what she hoped was a winning smile as the door opened. She took in the care-worn copper face and the dark, kind eyes that greeted her with vague surprise.

"Vicomtesse, it is good to see you looking so well. I am Nadir Khan, a good friend of Erik's." The exotic looking man smiled and bowed deeply.

Though she was fairly certain she had never seen this man before, his voice seemed comfortingly familiar. Christine smiled warmly in return. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Khan, though I feel somehow that I already know you. Is it possible that we have met before?"

Nadir gestured Christine into the grand foyer. He closed the door behind her, and then extended his hand towards the sitting room. "Perhaps we might continue our discussion in here, Madame, where it is more comfortable." Christine followed the dark-skinned man into a room that had obviously been very fine at one time, but now stood nearly empty - the furniture entirely covered with white dust cloths, except for a small divan and a lone wooden chair.

Nadir motioned Christine to the comfort of the sofa, seating himself opposite her on the chair. His eyes held only kindness and no trace of reproof when he answered her question at last. "Yes, Vicomtesse, we have indeed met before. It was on a rainy night nearly three weeks ago, although you are not likely to recall my face."

Christine blushed and lowered her eyes. "I apologize, Monsieur Khan. I'm afraid that I do not recall much of the events of that particular evening."

Nadir's voice was gentle. "You owe me no apologies, my dear, nor any explanation. I am very pleased to see you have recovered fully."

Christine nodded shyly. "Yes, thank you." Something he had said when he introduced himself had caught her attention and her curiosity was quickly becoming overwhelming. She could not contain herself any longer. "Monsieur Khan, who is the 'Erik' you speak of? Is he the owner of this house?"

Nadir's brow rose in surprise. "Yes, that is his christened name, although there is a good deal more to it, but I would have thought you of all people would have known that."

"Erik," Christine spoke the name aloud, saying it slowly as if testing it on her tongue. "It suits him." She smiled softly and raised her eyes to meet his questioning look. "I used to call him my Angel of Music. He never gave me any other name by which to address him," she explained.

Nadir nodded in understanding. It was just the sort of mysterious game his enigmatic friend would love to play, but he also knew that Erik must have had his reasons for withholding the information from Christine. The Persian wondered now if he had inadvertently revealed something that he shouldn't have. If so, Erik was likely to be angry with him. _Well, it wouldn't be the first time, and it is not likely to be the last._ He thought to himself.

Nadir quickly changed the subject. "We have not yet discussed the reason for your visit today, my dear. I assume it has something to do with the Comte de Renoir."

Christine looked blank for a moment.

Nadir chuckled. "Erik, Madame. I warned you there was a good deal more to his name."

Christine's face paled with shock. "He is a Comte?" she whispered.

Nadir nodded. "Indeed he is, though he seldom wishes to speak of it. What few memories he has of his family are not pleasant from my understanding."

Christine sat pondering all that she had learned of her mysterious Angel in the past few moments. She remembered suddenly that he had told her on the night of the opera fire how his mother had loathed him, giving him his mask and his first taste of the cruelties that the world held in store for him.

The more she thought of it, the more incensed she became at the utter unfairness of his life. The man was a genius, more talented than any man she knew of, and a Comte as well, yet he had been forced to hide his unique and brilliant self all because he had had the misfortune to be born with less than a perfect face. The injustice of it cried out to her very soul.

She had to find him, if for no other reason than to make him aware that someone on earth cared of his pain. Christine reached her hand out to touch the Persian's own, her eyes bright with determination. "Monsieur Khan, I want you to help me find Erik."

Nadir's face held momentary uncertainty. He had expected her request when she had appeared at the door, but he was unsure how to respond to it.

Frowning, he considered the potential consequences if he were to offer her his aid in the matter. He did not particularly wish to entangle himself in the affairs of his friend. He knew Erik would certainly not appreciate his meddling. And the Vicomtesse was hardly free. She was the wife of a powerful noble, a man who quite obviously adored his wife and loathed Erik.

Christine could sense his hesitation, but she persisted, leaning forward to make her earnest plea. "Please, I have so many things that I must tell him. There is so much that I must make him understand. Please, I beg you Monsieur Khan. You need not fear that I will cause him any more pain. If he will have me, I intend to stay with him for the rest of my life." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

Nadir sighed. "Vicomtesse, I ..."

Christine interrupted him, a look of distaste coloring her face. "Please do not call me that. I do not intend to be the Vicomtesse much longer. As soon as it can be arranged, my marriage to the Vicomte de Chagny will be annulled."

Nadir's brow wrinkled in confusion. "I do not understand, Madame. You have been married for some time, surely the Church will not approve."

Christine laughed bitterly. "Money and power can purchase approval, Monsieur. Surely you are aware that the rich are quite often forgiven the very sins that the poor would be condemned for. One need only be willing and able to afford the asking price." She looked away. "And of course, setting aside a wife who has failed to provide an heir is often seen as a duty rather than a sin amongst the nobility," she said softly.

Nadir began to understand. "So your husband is leaving you?" he asked quietly.

Christine raised her eyes and smiled. "No. I am leaving him."

Nadir searched her face. "Might I ask why?"

Christine's voice took on an endearing vulnerability as she released the secret she had held for so many years. "Because I am in love with Erik and I have been as long as I can remember. I wasn't strong enough to tell him before and then somehow everything became so complicated...," she trailed off, staring past him for a moment lost in her thoughts. Finally she continued, her words an open plea. "Monsieur, he needs me. And I need him. Please help me find him so I can make this right."

Nadir considered her words for a moment. Had she been anyone else, Nadir would have gently informed her that Erik needed no one. Now, however, after having seen the two of them together, he believed Christine may very well be the one exception on earth.

He smiled sadly at her anxious face. "Christine, I truly wish to help you, but Erik has not provided me with a means to contact him, nor has he given me any information concerning where he is going. He has said only that he plans to travel abroad for an extended period of time and then eventually settle somewhere outside of France. My instructions were to stay and arrange the sale of his home. I do not doubt that he may contact me in the future, but is certain to be at a time and in a manner of his choosing."

Christine looked crestfallen, and he patted her hand. "My dear, Erik chooses to remain a mystery, even to me, though I have known him a good deal of his life. I can not predict nor direct his actions. But if you wish to keep me informed of your location, I promise to convey that information to him and make it clear that you wish to speak with him. I'm afraid it may be some time, however, before I am able to do so."

He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. "This is the address where I can be reached after my work here is complete."

Christine nodded and accepted the paper miserably. She paused for a moment, then whispered faintly, "Nadir, why did he leave?"

The Persian looked mildly uncomfortable at her question. "Madame, it is not my place..."

Christine apologized quickly, "Of course. Forgive me." She smiled sadly. "It is just that he is as much of a mystery to me as he is to you, perhaps more. There is so much I want to know of him, so much I long to understand. And yet Fate seems determined once more to have her way with us – drawing us together and then driving us apart." She blinked back the tears that had sprung unbidden to her eyes, as she rose to leave.

Nadir had come to like the Vicomtesse immensely, even in the short time of their visit. He sensed that her words were sincere, though she seemed to have a tendency to allow her emotions to cloud her judgment. In that respect, she was much like Erik, he mused. He watched with sympathy as she attempted to manage a brave smile in the face of her disappointment.

"Monsieur Khan, I thank you for your listening ear, I have no doubt wearied it today."

Nadir chuckled. "Not at all, my dear, it has been a pleasure." He bent and kissed her extended hand lightly and walked with her to the door.

"I will be leaving Paris in the morning for Italy. I hope to seek employment in an opera house there. As soon as I am settled, I shall write you at the address you have given me to tell you where I will be staying."

Her face clouded with uncertainty, as she suddenly realized it was entirely possible Erik would never seek her out, even if provided with her location. This man was her last desperate link to both him and her eventual happiness.

Sensing her reluctance to lay her future completely in his hand, Nadir gave her a kind smile. "My dear, you must put your trust in the knowledge that your path and Erik's are already decided. What is destined to be will be."

Christine nodded. Nadir watched her cross the street to her carriage. She was a strong woman, despite her sensitive nature. He thought of all she had revealed to him today. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to slide into place. Erik clearly loved Christine. Christine admitted that she loved Erik, but events had conspired to keep them apart. It had all the makings of a classic tale of romantic tragedy.

The Persian stroked his chin thoughtfully. Though it was certainly true that destiny's hand could not be forced, neither could it be denied. He had a strange feeling that Christine and Erik were indeed meant to cross paths again one day, though perhaps it would not be as soon as either of them would have hoped.


	11. Letters

Dark Wolf Girll5: Thanks for reading all my fics! It is maybe easiest to respond to all three of your story reviews here. I sincerely appreciate your kind words. I do try to find my own twists to the usual tales. I am pleased that you felt I was successful.

sunfire-moondesire: Yay! Another E/C shipper joins the fic. Welcome!

Kagome1514: Oh, I love it when someone calls my fics original. That is so hard to do with all the fics out there. I get what you are saying: part of you wants Erik and Christine together right away; part of you likes to suffer through their angst. Well, I promise to bring them together soon, but not too soon, okay? Glad to have you aboard.

darklady5289: Good plot, loads of detail – just what I like to hear. Thank you, thank you, and welcome to the story!

lafemme540: Yay! You read 'Voyage'. That was my baby for like a month. And all your lavish praise makes me blush. Thank you, truly. As for this one, never fear, EC fluff is on the way. Loads of it, I promise. (But not for a couple more chapters, sorry!)

ilustgerik: I apologize for my lack of Erik last chapter. No Erik in this one either, but he will be back, front and center in our next chapter. And he will be very angry...yummy!

phantomann: I know I missed an entire day of posting. Life got in the way again. But today, I am free all day, so I plan to post this plus another chapter later. Sorry about the purple crayon thing. And I will reassure Jema Moda right now that you were in no way responsible for my lack of posting today. I take full responsibility for her being forced to curl up into a fetal position and suck her thumb at work. (J/K Jema, but that is what she told me!)

Pertie: You are always so polite, and you are most welcome. And yes, you are right; I am setting the stage for their eventual reunion. But a few things have to happen first...

HeartsAflame: Sorry to get your hopes up, but I have to make you suffer for a little while before I bring them together. Otherwise this fic would already be over. Just to warn you, it will be at least one more chapter before they see each other again. Oh, and welcome!

eternalcelestial: Yes, Raoul should indeed 'rot' as you said. But then again, Erik may not be finished with him just yet. My high school English teacher would be very proud to hear all your wonderful compliments.

LiltingBanshee: Thank you. I am so pleased that you like it. There is much more to come. Welcome, by the way!

Twinkle22: Fate has much in store for our star-crossed lovers. And we do see a glimpse of Christine's new life beginning to take shape in this chapter.

Jema Moda: Hmmm, am I trying to tell you something with that last line? I am known to do sneaky things like that from time to time. Love the Puerto Rican uncle thing – LOL! Our passive little Christine is working hard on growing a spine as the story goes on, so she may actually be someone we can all respect by the end. Erik as king of France, hey I like that idea! He might be a tad overfond of executing people though, hmmm. You know, "Off with Raoul's head!" Well, most of us here would forgive that execution anyway.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Thanks. I try to keep Nadir realistic because I love his character. He is Erik's conscience, and the kind, wise soul that keeps him bound to humanity when everyone else turns away. That's how I see him, anyway.

Ch. 11 – Letters

The night was dark and moonless as two hooded riders approached a small border village just outside of Geneva. Rain pelted down, scouring their shadowed faces. Frequent bolts of lightning split the sky, illuminating the rolling countryside. At last, a lone light spilled out onto the wet, rutted road. Reaching the stables of a rather derelict-looking inn, the two dismounted and gratefully stepped inside. The taller man lowered his hood, revealing a clean shaven face and damp, sandy hair. He began at once to remove the tack from his horse.

The second man removed his wet cloak with a look of disgust. His face was harder in appearance than that of the sandy-haired man, with dark, shifty eyes and prominent cheekbones that made the sides of his face appear shadowed and sunken. He leaned lazily against the door, wringing the rain from his cloak.

"Remind me again, dear cousin, why I agreed to ride with you halfway across France in this miserable weather to stay at some God-forsaken inn in Switzerland, then turn right around and ride back again."

The sandy-haired man looked up from his work. "Because I am being paid handsomely for my errand and I have generously agreed to split the sum with you in return for your services." He led his horse into the nearest stall and reached for a soft cloth hanging by a rusty nail on the wall above. With great care, he began to rub the horse dry.

The man with the sunken face snorted in impatience. "I still think there is something that doesn't smell right about this whole affair. A man in a mask offers you a large sum of money to deliver an envelope across the border into another country. I tell you, cousin, whatever is in that envelope must be of considerable value to make a man go to such lengths." His greedy eyes fell on the saddle bag that rested on the low wall of the stall between them.

The sandy-haired man shot him a warning look. "Jacques, I told you. It is sealed. His instructions were very clear. Break the seal and there will be no payment for our long and tedious ride." He finished drying the horse and reached for a brush to comb it. Looking back toward the doorway, he inclined his head toward the second horse which still stood saddled and dripping. "If you leave your horse like that tonight, you will be walking back to France in the morning."

Jacques looked sullen and began a half-hearted effort to care for his horse. His eyes fell once more upon the bag. "Did it ever occur to you George, that whatever is in that envelope might be worth more than our payment?"

George stopped his work abruptly, raising his wary face to take in his cousin's lusting eyes upon the saddle bag. "I have worked for this man before, Jacques. Though he has always been polite and fair in our dealings, something in his eyes and in his voice tells me that he is not a man to be crossed."

Jacques smirked, tearing his eyes reluctantly from the saddle bag. He began to drag a comb carelessly over the exhausted beast's muscular flanks. "Which is precisely why you sought my company, dear cousin, because of my many 'talents'."

George colored slightly. "I have no wish for trouble, Jacques. This man has been good to me and I can use the money. But he is not an ordinary man, and there is something threatening about him." He shrugged slightly. "I simply felt that this was not the type of errand to be completed alone, that's all."

He stepped back to survey his work. "I will speak to the stable boy about some water and feed for the horses." George patted the sorrel gelding fondly and turned to leave. "They deserve it after the long ride." Jacques's eyes followed him as he strode from the room, and then fell on the saddle bag once more.

Watching the door, he laid down his comb and stepped toward the saddle bag, quickly undoing the buckle. Slipping the envelope carefully from it, he stepped over to the light of the lantern, examining the seal: red wax, with no special markings. Smiling to himself, he lifted the lantern from the hook and lowered it to the floor. Opening the glass door in its side, he held the seal close to the flame until it began to loosen. Careful not to allow the wax to drip onto the parchment, he gave a gentle tug on the envelope's flap and it pulled free. Inside he could see a thick stack of bills wrapped in the pages of what appeared to be a letter.

Jacques's hands began to shake slightly. He glanced nervously toward the door as he pulled several crisp bills from inside the letter. Just a few, he thought. There is so much here, he will never be the wiser. George keeps his job and I come out a bit ahead as well. He eyed the bills covetously, reaching for several more, and stuffing a generous amount into the inside pocket of his coat.

Suddenly he heard voices nearby. His fingers fumbled to return the letter and the majority of the bills to the envelope. In his haste, he dropped the bundle clumsily, strewing the white pages and colored notes around the floor of the stable. Cursing under his breath, he hurriedly picked up a white page and began collecting notes franticly from the floor and tucking them inside.

The voices drew nearer. Jacques quickly slipped the slightly smaller bundle back inside the envelope and held the seal once more to the flame of the lamp.

As the wax softened, he pressed the flap of the envelope back into place and examined it. He smiled in satisfaction and relief. Even with his unfortunate mishap, no one would be the wiser. Jacques returned the envelope to the saddle bag and reached for his cloak.

Just then George returned to find Jacques leaning idly in the doorway of the stable once again. "Let's get this over with so I can get a stiff drink and find a pretty lady to warm my bed before they're all taken," he grumbled irritably.

George eyed him for a moment, then reached for the saddle bag. He undid the buckle and removed the envelope, turning it over in his hand. Seeing nothing amiss, he released a relieved breath, and then tucked it into his coat pocket.

Slapping Jacques fondly between the shoulders, he nodded eagerly. "Indeed, dear cousin. Tonight we shall be well paid for our labors. It seems fitting that we should enjoy a few well-earned comforts before we retire. Come. The first drink is on me."

As the two men left the stables, they failed to notice the fine white square of parchment listing an address in Florence that lay trodden into the muck of the stable floor.

Christine smiled as she removed her heavy stage makeup. Tonight had been an utter triumph, one in a long chain of many. The sound of enthusiastic applause still danced in her ears and the warmth of the footlights clung to her skin, though their light had long since dimmed. She felt exhilarated and supremely alive, as she only did after a performance.

She stood up, stretching luxuriously. Carefully avoiding the flowers from her many admirers that filled the room, Christine stepped behind the dressing screen in the far corner of her suite to change. How Raoul would have hated my costume tonight, she thought with a giggle. The role of Carmen required a healthy amount of sensuality and feminine appeal. Thus, her costume was an exotic Spanish creation which clung to her figure, revealing more than a hint of both her cleavage and her shapely legs.

As Christine peeled the heavy fabric from her skin, she had to admit that she enjoyed wearing not only the costume of Carmen, but the persona as well. It was, in a strange sense, freeing, as if she were no longer bound by the constraints of social propriety. When playing the part of a shameless seductress she could finally acknowledge and begin to understand that fiery, passionate part of herself that existed secretly in the darkest corner of her soul. It was almost as though another person resided somewhere inside her body, one unafraid to embrace all that it meant to be a woman, and in the role of Carmen that person was allowed to break free.

At first she had been hesitant to take on the role, worried that her inexperience and naivety would cause her to appear awkward in the guise of an untamed Gypsy maid gifted in the art of seduction. Instead, it had been as if she had given life to a secret flipside of her personality, a side that had remained dormant for most of her existence.

There was only one man on earth who had ever commanded the emergence of that daring, passionate woman that she had found inside herself. The sensations he had evoked from her so many years ago served as her inspiration now. On stage, she could allow herself free reign to imagine his hands on her body, his lips on her skin. Then she always seemed to find the alluring smile and the suggestive movements that served to define her character.

Christine slid a white satin robe onto her slender frame and tied it around her waist with a sigh. Rediscovering her music and her art had been like breathing life back into a part of her soul that had died. But in the reawakening of a dream, she had undeniably opened old wounds and reignited forgotten longings. Always when the euphoria drained away and she found herself alone in her dressing room surrounded by the achingly familiar scent of roses, her gaze could not help but be drawn to the oversized gilded mirror that hung on the far wall of her extravagant suite.

In all the splendor of the fragrant blooms around her, she longed for one single perfect long-stemmed rose tied in a simple black satin ribbon. She still sang only for him when she was on stage. Yet in the eight months since her career had resumed, he had never once been there to hear it. Though she could not deny that she was happier than she had been in nearly seven years, every triumph was an empty one without her Angel to give her his praise.

Christine sat down at her dressing table, pulling from the drawer a letter that she had received nearly a month ago. She had reread it countless times, but somehow she needed to see the words again tonight to reassure herself that there was still a chance that her Angel might yet return to her. Unfolding the worn pages, she pressed the creases flat and read the familiar words.

_Christine,_

_I was pleased to hear that you are well and are enjoying success and happiness in your new home. I am honored to be an acquaintance of the reigning prima donna of the Teatro Comunale. I have heard your praises sung even here in France, though it seems your stage name has succeeded in eliminating the possibility that anyone might discover your former identity. Florence truly sounds like a remarkable city. Erik often spoke of its overwhelming beauty and unique architecture with great appreciation and fondness. _

_Concerning our illusive friend, I was recently able to convey your message when he at last sent for the funds I had collected from the sale of his home. Alas, I was not able to speak with him directly, as he did not come in person, but instead sent a messenger. I thought you would be relieved to know that according to his note, he is well and seems to be enjoying his travels, though he did not give any details regarding his exact location. In my reply, I included your address and a letter of explanation along with the funds._

_I know that my words will do little to reassure you, but do not lose hope. Erik is a stubborn man, but you have a greater hold over him than he cares to admit. I suspect it will be difficult for him to remain apart from you once he learns that you wish to see him._

_May Allah continue to smile upon you, dear friend._

_Nadir_

"_...you have a greater hold over him than he cares to admit..."_ She sincerely hoped those words were true, for she had clung to them desperately since the letter had arrived. Sighing heavily, she refolded the letter, replacing it carefully inside the drawer of her dressing table where she could easily find its comfort again in the morning. Waiting for an Angel was proving to be more difficult than she had thought.


	12. Punishment of the Wicked

**A/N: **The letter that George and Jacques were delivering along with the money is the one Nadir promised Christine that he would send to Erik when he got the chance. You will get to read _most_ of it in this chapter. For those who were uncertain, I will point out that when Jacques first opens the envelope he mentions the bills are surrounded by the white page**s** (plural) of a letter. But when he picks them up again after having dropped them, he wraps the bills in a white pag**e** (singular). Also, in the last line of that section, it mentions one white page of parchment listing a Florence address that is trampled unnoticed on the muck of the stable floor. Remember, Christine is currently employed at the Teatro Communale in Florence. Sorry for all the mix ups. Maybe I made the connections a little too subtle. I just hate to give stuff away. I like to make you guys work for it! (Wink)

sunfire-moondesire: A lemon, hmmm, an interesting idea, but no. However, I think you will like what Erik has in store for "stupid-a" as you so rightfully called him. How do you feel about 'ham'? You will understand after you read today's installment.

erikfan: Of course Erik will know something is amiss. He is a genius after all, even if he didn't catch on to Raoul's humongous lie. Never fear, the guilty will be punished – liberally.

phantomann: I hope this makes up for the lack of Erik previously. We get to see him be a bad boy once again. Phantom-esque in fact. Sadly no, Jacques did _not_ pick up all the pages of the letter. (See my author's note at the top.) I'm so mean. I did that to you guys in 'Voyage' too, didn't I? Erik apparently has bad luck with letters. What can I say?

Captain Oblivious: LOL! I used the translator to read your message too! You hit the nail right on the head with your observation about Christine having to learn to stand on her own and Erik having to learn to get along with people before they can be happy together. That is why I have to keep them apart for a while, so they can grow and change. Erik has a minor setback in his 'learning-to-get-along-with-people' quest in this chapter, however. I guess it could actually be seen as a major break through, depending on how you look at it. You will understand what I mean at the end of the chapter, and if not, I will explain myself next installment.

Pertie: On pins and needles – exactly where I like to keep my readers. You are welcome as always. Thanks for your loyal reviews.

eternalcelestial: Yes, let's all blame 'stupid Jacques' and not our obedient author for delaying E and C's reunion yet again. Take out all your frustrations on him. Erik plans to, I can personally assure you.

Twinkle22: How is this for a quick update? See the author's note at the top for an answer to your question. Sorry if I wasn't clear on that point.

Jema Moda: Here is the second chapter that I "owed" you today. You must have a very unique work environment that no one noticed you rocking away beneath your desk. I will try never to deny you your daily update ever again. Your faith in my dedication to a future EC reunion filled with glorious fluff is inspiring. Perhaps I could squeeze one more chapter in tonight. We shall see...

SabrinaFair: Oh you have made my day! My favorite line in the whole fic is the one you mentioned when Erik asks Raoul that in the doorway. Up until now, no one has mentioned it, and I so wanted someone to laugh at that because I laughed when I wrote it and I have laughed every time I have read it since then. I can just picture Erik there with his famous smirk, leaning idly in the doorway. Can you imagine the look on Raoul's face? As for Erik and Christine's ages, I based this fic on the movie so I went with the starting ages of 17 and 34. Since seven years have now passed, that would make Christine 24, and Erik 41. Thanks for the compliments and I hope you stay with us to the end.

**Ch. 12 – Punishment of the Wicked**

Somewhat nervously, the two weary travelers approached the dark figure seated in the corner of the room. His face was hidden from them by the shadows that embraced his lithe form, but his powerful presence could be sensed from the moment they had entered the room.

Stepping forward, George cleared his throat awkwardly and laid the envelope on the table across from his mysterious employer. He drew back, waiting with bated breath. A gloved hand reached elegantly to pull the envelope into the shadows. George watched anxiously as the dark man turned the envelope over and brushed his thumb across the red wax of the seal.

As he leaned forward slightly to examine the seal more closely in the light, the startling white of his mask became suddenly visible, illuminated by the glow of the lamp on the opposite side of the table. Jacques gave an involuntary gasp.

Cold gray eyes flicked instantly from the envelope to the unfamiliar face of the shorter man. Under the intensity of his icy gaze, Jacques looked away. He felt himself begin to shake as he imagined the masked man's eyes boring into his very soul. _He could not know._ He told himself franticly. _The seal is perfect and he hasn't even looked inside. By the time he opens the envelope and discovers what is missing, we will be long gone with our money in hand. _He repeated the words over and over in his mind, letting out a breath of relief when the strangely piercing eyes at last dropped their gaze.

A cold half-smirk replaced the icy stare and Jacques shivered in spite of himself. He could see now why George had been unwilling to invoke this man's wrath. There was indeed something horribly powerful and threatening about him. Jacques had been around many hardened men in his lifetime, a great deal of them with violent pasts. Yet even without so much as a word from the dark man before him he felt he had more to fear in this room than in any of the filthiest holes in all of Paris. He shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other as the unfeeling smile turned from him to George at last.

"It appears all is in order." His voice was low and silky, unnervingly calm. "You will find your payment beneath a loose floorboard at the foot of the bed in your room. This will be the end of our association. I have included a generous additional sum as always for your continued silence." Erik leaned back in his chair again eying the treacherous-looking man steadily from the shadows.

Jacques nearly fell over himself in his haste to leave the room. George, however, remained behind to extend his hand to the employer who had been so good to him over the years. Erik shifted his eyes in vague surprise to the extended hand and after a moment's pause, offered his own.

"Thank you, sir. May God go with you in your travels." George smiled sincerely as he released the gloved hand at last.

"I'm afraid, my young friend, that God seems to have other occupations at the moment," Erik said lightly, but the corners of his mouth curved upward ever so little in acknowledgment of the young man's sincerity.

Bemused by his words, George bowed and stepped from the room, closing the door behind him.

Erik sat looking thoughtfully at the door for a moment after the two men had left. He trusted George. They had done business together many times in the past and always the young man had completed his various errands faithfully and with discretion. The second fellow on the other hand had a nasty look about him. Erik could almost taste the man's fear and guilt as he had cowered beneath his gaze.

He would deal with the traitorous wretch later, but right now he looked forward to hearing word from his old friend. Erik hated to admit it, but he found that he missed the Persian's patient face and wise counsel sorely. Perhaps once he was settled, he would give the Daroga permission to visit on occasion. After all, the man had been invaluable in tying up the many loose ends when Erik had been forced to leave Paris so suddenly, in addition, of course, to saving Erik's life in the past on more than one occasion.

With an eagerness that surprised him, Erik opened the seal, noting with a snort the dirty thumbprint in the red wax. The Daroga would never have been so careless. The sunken faced man was a fool and he would pay dearly for his arrogance in thinking himself of greater intelligence than the man he had attempted to rob.

Erik moved to the other side of the table where the light was stronger, withdrawing the bundle of bank notes from inside the letter and spreading the lone white page in the familiar sloping hand out before him on the table.

_My dear friend_,

_The funds I collected from the recent sale of your home are enclosed as requested. It was sold for the exact price that you specified, so the amount enclosed should be satisfactory to you._

_On a more personal note, I have often wondered how you are faring in your travels. I hope you have come to find some measure of peace in your time away, though I greatly miss your company. It is indeed odd, considering what an obstinate, insufferable grouch you tend to be the vast majority of the time. _

_But I jest my friend. Life in Paris continues on much as it always has. I find myself in need of a change of scenery for a time, now that my work here for you is complete. Perhaps in time you might allow me to visit you in whatever far off land you happen to find yourself in. _

_There is one final item I must mention. Shortly after you left, Christine came to see me. She is looking well and is fully recovered, as I am sure you will be relieved to learn. However, she had a request to ask of me. She asked that I make you aware upon our next correspondence that she wishes to speak with you. She was most insistent, but I made no promises other than to pass along the information to you..._

Erik turned the paper over, searching for the remainder of the sentence. Seeing nothing, he flipped it back over anxiously and reread the last paragraph. It was very unlike Nadir to finish a letter without an appropriate closing and his familiar sloping signature. No, it seemed almost as if the last few sentences of the letter had been lost somehow.

Angrily he flung the paper to the floor. There had been more to Nadir's words of Christine, he was sure of it. The traitorous man with George had no doubt lost the other page in his foolish attempt to rob Erik blind. He shook his dark head in disgust. Fate had once again intervened to deny him even the few meager words of her that could have helped to sustain him in his eternal banishment from her presence.

He glowered at the letter for a time, cursing his ill-fated luck. Finally, he could resist no longer. He picked it up and began once more to read the final paragraph. _She wishes to speak with me_, he thought with a small flutter of hope somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

As he pondered what this might mean, he had to admit even in his desperation that it most likely meant she wanted to thank him for saving her life and returning her to her precious vicomte. Though the words would be bittersweet to his ears indeed, they did not change the fact that he had promised never to return to France. Besides, what good could come of it? No matter how he wished otherwise, Christine was a married woman and had been for the past seven years. There was no future for them. He had come to accept it.

And yet, part of him still remained undecided. Erik had never yet found the will to deny Christine any request that it was in his power to grant. What if she did not merely wish to thank him? What if she needed something or was in danger somehow? His mind began to race franticly, thinking of all manner of imagined sufferings that might have befallen her in his absence.

_Ah, but is she not in even greater danger from you?_ The mocking voice echoed in his mind as he remembered painfully the damning horizontal lines etched eternally into the creamy skin of her wrists.

Erik sighed. No, his exile from Christine had been self-inflicted, intended for the sole purpose of her safety and happiness; he would enforce it vigorously until his dying day, no matter how it tore him apart inside. Nothing in the world could make him risk being the cause of her unhappiness, let alone her death.

With his sad resolution firmly planted in his mind, Erik slid the corner of the letter into the flame of the lamp. He held the shriveling parchment in his hand, watching the flames dance mockingly before his eyes. The smoldering letter at last dissolved into nothingness, and he blew the remaining ashes from the table. With its tantalizing words destroyed, there would be nothing to tempt his weak heart into further self-torment.

Tucking the thick bundle of bills inside his pocket, there was only one further matter that required his attention before he could make his way out of Switzerland and begin the final leg of his journey. Rising to his feet at last, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 2:00 AM. A perfect time for justice, he thought. The two men would most likely be very drunk and fast asleep by now.

He removed from his belt a length of rope, tied carefully in his trademark Punjab lasso. Holding it hidden beneath the folds of his cloak, he opened the door and disappeared soundlessly into the shadow of the hall.

The next morning, a plump, middle-aged maid held a breakfast tray in her left hand and knocked impatiently with her right on the door of the room at the top of the stairs. The two young Frenchmen who had arrived late last night were no doubt feeling the effects of their drunken antics from the previous evening, for it was nearing nine o'clock and they had yet to emerge from their room.

The maid shook her head in disgust. She had no time for their self-inflicted suffering, nor for their late rising. Reaching for the knob, she flung open the door rudely. The sight that met her eyes brought them open wide and she let out a hideous shriek as the breakfast tray crashed forgotten to the floor.

There, hanging from the ceiling by his ankles, was the sunken faced man, entirely naked accept for a dingy pair of undershorts. A noose had been tied neatly around his neck and its other end had been used to bind the man's wrists behind him, successfully bending his head and arching his back at an absurdly painful angle.

Upon seeing her in the doorway, he began to struggle violently, motioning with his head for her to cut him down, and attempting to communicate in a series of muffled grunts. With every movement of his arms, however, the noose pulled more tightly around his neck, reducing his oxygen supply and forcing him at last to hang motionless in miserable defeat, like a ham in a butcher's window.

Finding her wits at last, the terrified maid flew down the stairs and returned quickly with a police inspector who had been enjoying his breakfast in the dining room below. When the inspector entered the room, he blinked his eyes twice to be certain of what they were seeing. The man suspended from the ceiling jerked and motioned comically once more at the sight of the uniformed man, but was once again forced to forego his futile efforts in order to avoid certain strangulation.

The inspector stood marveling for a moment at the brilliance and intricacy of the torture. The man before him must have done something very impudent to deserve such a harsh and demeaning punishment. The desperate muffled voice of the man swinging from the ceiling broke him from his amusement. His brow wrinkling slightly, the inspector stepped forward to find the source of the man's distorted speech. To his astonishment, something looking like a note and a great deal of what appeared to be franc notes had been stuffed into the man's throat.

Unfolding the note, the inspector had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out in laughter as he read.

_Good Inspector:_

_The money that you will find shoved down this ungrateful wretch's throat was stolen from me. Please see that he is punished appropriately. If you need a further witness to the crime, the drunk man in the next bed will likely be able to assist you. I do not believe he was in any way involved; however, if you discover differently, feel free to arrest him and do with them both what you will._

_Your obedient servant,_

_Comte de Renoir_

Having been awakened by the commotion in the room, George stumbled over groggily in shocked disbelief at the site before him. The inspector handed him the note. "I suggest you cut your friend down and both of you find some clothes. It seems an explanation is in order."

Stepping over to the struggling man's livid face, which was now turning a dull shade of purple, the inspector smiled down at him. "It appears you have angered the wrong man, my friend. The safety of a jail cell will perhaps be of comfort to you." Turning swiftly, he strode from the room, leaving Jacques to his struggle.


	13. Fate Receives a Nudge

**A/N:** **Major Apology/Confession – I AM SO SORRY! I posted this chapter this morning, but erikfan was kind enough to point out that I had hopelessly botched the Italian phrases. (Erik's Italian may be flawless, but mine unfortunately is not.) Thus, I was compelled to quickly remove the chapter until I could fix the problem. I think this is right now, but if there is someone out there willing to be my consultant for any further Italian phrases I might need to add later on, I would be much obliged. **

On a happier note, in this chapter, Fate takes a kinder turn and Nadir comes to the rescue! EC fluff is now in sight! BTW – I have been to Florence. I can not nearly do it justice in my description. If you ever have the chance, do NOT hesitate. It is the most beautiful, romantic, magical place on earth. PS – See if you can catch some of my Erik "phantasies" creeping into the first few paragraphs.

sunfire-moondesire: Good point about the "dirty ham" thing. Sorry to disappoint you by not allowing Erik to commit another murder. To make it up to you, in this chapter you will get a hint of the loads of EC fluff on the horizon. It won't be long now!

ilustgerik: Well said.

phantomann: Sorry! Although I wrote a good deal of this chapter last night, I wasn't feeling well, so I didn't get it posted. But you will be happy to know that Fate is also capable of good surprises, such as where our dear Erik unknowingly chooses to reside. (You will understand after reading this chapter.) And as for Jacques, he was fortunate. Ever since Christine's kiss in the lair, Erik has been gradually pulling from the darkness and emerging into the light that she has shown him. I think now, the only way he would kill again would be to protect Christine. That part of his life is thankfully behind him.

draegon-fire: Yes, Fate has been a cruel mistress to the two, hasn't she? Erik indeed should have questioned Raoul's motives more closely. But Raoul found his two areas of vulnerability: Christine and Erik's insecurities. It is easy for Erik to believe that Christine would fear him, because everyone else does and even he, in some sense, fears his own darkness. Besides, he is not willing to take even the slightest risk of hurting Christine. So, he does the only thing he thinks he can do, which is give her up once more.

Hearts Aflame: Thanks! I am glad you "luff" it!

darklady5289: Erik is always very original. Glad you are enjoying the fic!

lafemme540: "Gifted One" – that is quite a title. I will endeavor to live up to it. Glad you liked the "comedic tint". Erik does have a wicked sense of humor. (Think of his notes to Andre and Firmin.) I try to let it show occasionally. And Nadir is allowed a freedom to tease Erik just a tiny bit because he has earned Erik's trust over the years. But notice that even he does so safely from another country! And you answered your own question: Why do the two not notice the page of the letter on the stable floor? Because the title of the story is "When Fate is Denied", that's why!

xxphantomphanessxx: Nadir will save the day: that is what will happen! Read on for the answers you seek. PS – Don't pull your hair out yet. Thanks! I try to update once a day whenever possible to keep the drama alive.

Captain Oblivious: Careful with that sword! You wouldn't want to accidentally decapitate your friendly author, now would you? I love too that Erik chose to punish and humiliate rather than to simply kill him as you said. And in reference to my comment last chapter, it does seem as if our Erik has reached a turning point where he can no longer kill "without a thought," even when it might be justified. (See my further comments above to phantomann.)

TheQueenSarah: Yes, I know how much you love this guy, because I myself have been head-over-heels for him since I first saw the movie. I fall a little deeper every time I write about him. Could there be a more hopeless plight than being in love with a fictional character? I share your pain. (Sniff) I think he does understand that it was not only his face that keeps him from her. He speaks of being afraid to taint her with his evil and darkness as well.

Pertie: Remember though, Erik is missing out on some vital information. He still believes Christine is married to Raoul and living in France. Nadir to the rescue!

Twinkle22: Fate is indeed fickle, and now at last She is about to take a more favorable turn. Read on. PS – No need to thank me. It is my job to clear up any misunderstandings that I unwittingly create.

Jema Moda: Thank you, dear. Sorry to make you nervous, though that was my intention with the title. You are right. Our Erik has moved beyond the point where he can "kill without a thought". It is beneath him. But you have to admit, Jacques got what he deserved. And as I explained to our mutual friend phantomann earlier, I think I am able to find Erik's mind so easily because I am thoroughly and hopelessly in love with him. Though he is such a complex character, he is by far the easiest for me to write, isn't that strange? Someday, I may write a fic entirely from his perspective. I bet you would have no trouble, once you got started. Your comment that I make him the Erik you all imagine him to be is the highest praise you could have given me, so thank you!

Kagome1514: Yes, "stupid Jacques" truly got what he deserved for messing with our lovers, didn't he? I found his punishment quite amusing as well. George got off fairly easy, but he wasn't as involved in the treachery. Erik was fair, in that respect.

xo-little-lotte-xo: I am pleased that you saw the humor I attempted to create. EC fluff heading our way!

Sabrina Fair: Ooooh, I know. That is my favorite of Erik's personas too. Glad you will be hanging out with us for a while!

Ch. 13 – Fate Receives a Nudge

Erik wiped the sweat from his brow, looking with satisfaction at his work. The garden was coming along nicely. With the combination of gentle spring rain and fair Italian sun, he would have a wide variety of fresh vegetables available to him by midsummer.

Though he had never kept a garden before, he found he rather enjoyed the work. It provided occupation for both mind and hands, and he found that his body, which had always been lean and strong, had now taken on an even more defined, muscular appearance. Because his villa was located in a secluded area high upon one of the many rolling hills surrounding Florence, there were no prying eyes to see him as he worked without shirt or mask through the heat of the afternoon. The Mediterranean sun had turned the skin of his upper body a rich golden-brown and seemed to ease the burdens on his mind and heart.

Erik felt safe here, as he had never dared to feel anywhere else. Perhaps it had been advancing age, or simply a weary soul that had convinced him to settle permanently far sooner than he had originally planned. He had been uprooted so many times throughout the first forty years of his life. For the remainder of it, he wished to have one single place to call his own. Starting out fresh in a new city, with his past sins long behind him, he felt a sudden desire to know something of a normal life before his years upon earth were ended. The first time he had set eyes on this place, something about it had called to him, whispering that here he might find a true home at last.

He remembered clearly his first view of Porto Dell'Angelo. It had been early morning and the dew still clung to the greenery of the grounds. The bright fall sunshine set off the tiny spheres of water like a thousand sparkling diamonds against the velvety green of its luxurious foliage. The house itself stood tall and aristocratic, wrapped in a rambling portico, with the rusty color of its tiled roof sharp against the soft cornflower of the morning sky. In front of the villa sprawled a lush front lawn which sloped gently toward the edge of the hill. It was surrounded on three sides by the tall, slender cypress trees that characterized the muted Tuscan landscape. By far the most striking feature of Porto Dell'Angelo, however, was on the southwest side, where the line of the trees abruptly ended, and the soft curve of the hill sloped sharply downward to reveal a striking view of the magnificent city below.

Just beyond it, Florence stood like an elegant bejeweled lady with the lofty dome of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore as her crowning glory. Its glorious rounded peak shone golden, lit by the sun above the gentle veil of purple mist blanketing the valley.

Erik had stood entranced for many moments that first day, drinking in the peace and beauty of the site. In the distance, he had heard the sound of church bells tolling softly the morning hour and something profound had swelled inside his chest. He had always been drawn to Florence. The city was beauty and music incarnate, and Porto Dell'Angelo was a front seat to her daily performance. Erik had purchased it immediately without a second thought.

A great deal of renovation had been required in order to restore the villa to its current pristine condition, but he had relished the challenge and the opportunity to put his various architectural and construction skills to use. Now, after six months of painstaking work, the villa and grounds had surpassed even their own original glory. The outer facade of the house had been freshly painted a soft shade of creamy white and the shutters around its many windows, a brilliant blue. He had filled the flower boxes below each window sill with a riot of carefully tended magenta flowers, and had added a beautiful cedar bench to the front portico. Immaculate hedges and large clay urns full of bright flowers in exotic colors and fragrances decorated the lawn.

Erik could not help a trace of a smile as he slipped on his mask and reached for his shirt. Just as he moved to slide the gauzy white fabric over his shoulders, however, he thought he caught a faint movement out of the corner of his eye.

She was back again - the little dark-eyed girl from the vineyard down the road. It was odd. Although he had little experience with children, this one seemed strangely drawn to him, often peeking out at him from behind the bushes.

Not wishing to scare her off, he finished buttoning his shirt, pretending that he had not seen her there. Casually reaching over to where he had left his half-finished lunch, he produced two oranges. Seating himself on one end of the cedar bench, he placed the first orange on the bench beside him, and began to peel the other for himself. With a smile, he watched out of the corner of his eye as she hesitantly approached, eyeing the fruit hungrily, and then his face.

At last, she stood shyly in front of him. The girl was an undoubtedly pretty child, with large dark eyes and thick brown hair that fell in waves down her back. She appeared to be somewhere between four and five years of age and had the mocha-skinned beauty that was so typical of the Italian people. Today, she wore a red cotton sun dress covered with tiny white flowers and little white sandals on her feet.

Erik smiled warmly and motioned to the seat beside him. Her face immediately lit up in a wide grin and she picked up the orange, hopping easily into the space next to him. They sat in silence for several moments, enjoying their treat. Finally, Erik could hear her sucking happily at her sticky fingers and knew she had finished. He laid out a napkin on his lap and showed her how he wrapped his orange peelings inside it. She carefully copied his movements, doing the same with her own. Then she hopped down to leave.

Studying him for a moment, she asked suddenly, "Come ti chiami?" Erik smiled and pointed to his chest, "Mi chiamo Erik". She nodded, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Rosa," she chirped, pointing to herself. She turned and began to disappear over the lawn, calling back over her shoulder, "Grazie, Erik!"

"Prego!" He called back. "You are welcome."

Erik felt strangely elated that he had at last earned her trust. He had little patience for adults, with their selfish motives and unfair prejudices. But this sweet child was somehow able to see beyond his face and sense the lonely man within. That fact had touched an unexplored frontier in his heart. He imagined he would never have a child of his own, but if he did, he hoped for a little girl much like Rosa, who would look up at him with wide trusting eyes as if he held the keys to all that was magical in the world. Erik continued to smile as his blue-gray eyes followed her down the dusty road and around the corner out of sight.

"You never told me you had such a way with children, my friend." Erik broke from his reverie at the sound of a familiar voice. Turning toward the opposite end of the road, he saw the care-worn, copper face of his trusted friend. "Nor that you could speak Italian as easily as French."

"Daroga! You managed to find the place, I see." Erik smiled widely and walked over to him, extending his hand.

Nadir grasped his hand firmly in both of his own, shaking it fondly. "Yes, though you might have warned me of the climb. At my age, such a thing could have killed me." He studied Erik for a moment. "You, however, certainly look fit enough to chance it." His smile broadened as he took in the health and well being that radiated from his friend. He had never seen Erik looking so relaxed and content. Certainly the combination of Florence and Christine had done wonders for him.

Erik and Nadir walked back to the house, chatting amicably. Once inside, Nadir observed curiously the white washed walls and high ceilings with their exposed rafters of rich, dark wood. The furnishings were simple, but elegant in an array of exotic woods and the familiar jewel tones that Erik had always been particularly fond of added to the room's warmth and richness. Most surprising of all, Nadir found that every window was open wide, allowing the gentle Mediterranean breeze and warm spring sunshine to flood the house.

Nadir lowered his pack and shrugged out of his long traveling robe, seating himself at a small table as Erik busied himself in the kitchen. "All is well in Paris, I trust?" Erik asked, as he began to slice the various brightly colored vegetables that he had obtained earlier from the small farmer's market at the base of the hill.

Nadir nodded. "It seemed to be so when I left. What is it that you are doing?" he asked curiously.

Erik gave him an impatient look, "Cooking. What does it look like?"

Nadir chuckled. "Another one of your many talents that you have never felt it necessary to share with me, I gather."

Erik shrugged. "I never felt much urge to try it up until now."

Nadir gave him a searching look. "I sense many changes in you, my friend. You seem...content. I assume Christine is the reason?" As he said the words, he glanced around the room for some sign of her presence, but seeing none he quickly began to doubt his own words.

Erik paused for a moment. His face was turned slightly away from his friend, but Nadir could see a flash of pain move across it. "Why would you say that?" he asked slowly.

Nadir was perplexed by his obvious error. "After my letter, I naturally assumed you went to find her. When you wrote me of the home you purchased in Florence, I was certain that you and Christine would be living here together." He had not meant to cause Erik further pain, but he felt his assumption had been a logical one, given what he knew.

Erik turned away and resumed slicing, albeit it with a bit more force than was necessary. "Obviously, your assumption was inaccurate," he said quietly. His knife continued with its rhythmic beat against the cutting board.

Nadir stared at his back in stunned silence as Erik finished his preparations and lit a fire in the stove, setting a large pot of water to boil on its surface. On the other side, he placed a flat saucepan and dropped the sliced vegetables into it, listening to the satisfying sizzle.

Nadir was incredulous. He had been so sure when Erik had mentioned Florence that he and Christine had found each other at last, but it now appeared that something had gone horribly amiss.

"Erik, have you spoken with Christine since my last letter?" he asked carefully.

Erik stopped his movements and braced himself against the counter, staring out the window. "No."

Nadir was astonished. "Why ever not? Did I not make it clear that she wished to speak with you?"

Erik whirled around, his patience failing. "Yes, you made it most clear, Daroga," he hissed. "However it seems that you had conveniently forgotten a number of relevant details. For example, the fact that Christine is married and living with her beloved husband in France, a country that I have forever banished myself from because my hideous countenance nearly drove the woman I love to end her life."

Nadir remained unfazed by his sarcasm. "Erik, did you read my entire letter?"

Erik sighed, his momentary anger giving way to weariness. "No. I had the unfortunate experience of quite nearly being robbed by the men I hired to deliver it. Part of the letter appeared to have been lost in the process."

Nadir nodded in sudden understanding. "Ah, now I see the reason for our mutual confusion," he said softly.

Erik turned back to the cupboards and began to withdraw two glasses and the necessary silverware. Setting them on the countertop, he reached up for the plates.

After a moment's thought, the Persian decided that Fate had had her way with these two people long enough. It was time to give Her a little nudge.

"Christine has not been married for quite some time now, Erik," he said gently, "and she has been living here in Florence these past two years." Nadir watched as the hands of his friend that had been removing a variety of dishes from a high cupboard paused in midair. "She writes to me quite often, and always she asks of you."

Erik's heart seemed to stop beating for nearly a full minute upon hearing the Daroga's words. He lowered his hands and turned to search Nadir's face. He could see the truth of the Persian's words twinkling in his dark eyes.

When he finally found his voice, he whispered, "She is here?"

Nadir smiled. "Yes, my friend. Your Christine is the lead soprano of the Teatro Comunale, though I understand she is known by her stage name, rather than her given name here in Florence."

Erik felt his legs would give out beneath him. He left the plates on the countertop and sunk wearily into the second chair opposite his friend across the table.

"All this time, she has been here and neither of us knew the other was but moments away," he whispered. He wasn't entirely certain whether to rail at Fate for playing such a cruel joke or to thank his lucky stars. He remained quiet for many moments. Finally, he lifted his eyes to those of his trusted friend. "Nadir, what do you think I should do?"

The Persian was touched by his question. Erik had never before sought his opinion on any matter, and the fact that he would do so now concerning something as dear to his heart as Christine, honored Nadir greatly.

He leaned across the table to lay a wide, calloused hand on Erik's shoulder. "I think you should purchase a ticket to tonight's Opera, my friend," he said with a grin. "I hear the new Prima Donna is particularly enchanting."


	14. Of Red Roses and Black Ribbons

**A/N:** Sorry for my lack of post yesterday. I was gone most of the day and didn't get the chapter finished until this morning. Forgive me.

**Timeline questions: **To clarify some of the timeline questions that I have been getting, Christine and Raoul were married for six years after the opera fire. Then Christine showed up on Erik's doorstep and two more years have now gone by since then. (Eight years total - Christine would now be 25 and Erik 42.) Thus, Erik's escapades with George and Jacques, as well as his later restoration of Porto Dell' Angelo have been taking place simultaneously with Christine's emerging fame at the Teatro Comunale. Erik spent most of the first year traveling, and then shortly after the "Jacques" incident, he made his way to Italy and found his new home in Florence. In my mind, he has been there about a year before Nadir shows up and alerts him to Christine's presence. Erik has understandably been avoiding anything opera related since the opera fire and the events of that ill-fated night; thus he is unaware of her growing fame. Also, remember that I have mentioned once or twice that Christine is known by her stage name in Italy. Bear that in mind as well.

**Florence twist: **For those of you who didn't see the Florence twist coming, see my comments to Dark Wolf Girl15 below.

**Erik's newfound domestic side: **I also feel it necessary to explain Erik's domestic side that emerged in the previous chapter. I hope you don't feel that Erik is acting outside his character. His darker side is still very much intact, although he is no longer able to "kill without a thought" as he once did. Don't be fooled, however, he is still able to kill when necessary, which will become clear later on once again. But Erik has always been a multi-dimensional character. (See my remarks to erikfan below.) What I hoped to portray in this chapter, was that Erik had been using his time traveling abroad to do some reflecting on his life. He is in his 40s now, and it seems logical that he would begin to be confronted by his mortality and the fact that he has never had a real home or a normal life. Even without Christine, it seems to me that at some point he would desire those things. And perhaps, unconsciously, he is still attempting to make himself worthy of her love, in the event that she may one day offer it to him at last.

Special thanks, BTW to erikfan, a former native of Italy who has been offering assistance with any Italian that appears and has been consoling me after my first botched attempts at the language. I still haven't fully recovered from my shame. My muse seems to be suffering a bit, as the chapters aren't coming to me quite as quickly all of the sudden. My cat Oscar still loves me though. He is purring contentedly on my lap as usual as I type. I hope he can raise my spirits.

darklady5289: Ah, you see where I am heading with this, don't you? I hope it doesn't seem out of character for him. See my author's notes on the subject at the top of the page.

phantomann: Hurry back! I love your emails, but it isn't the same as having your encouraging reviews in my mailbox every morning. My muse is suffering in you absence. (Sniff) And in all honesty, every side of Erik is attractive, at least to me. Dark and violent, loving and gentle, strangling the life from someone or cooking in the kitchen, I would take him every which a way. (Boy, I may need some professional help after this. It just occurred to me how twisted that sounds.) I did change the last line. The first one inadvertently sounded to me sort of seedy or something. Very un-Nadirlike if someone were to read it that way.

Kagome1514: Erik gets to see Christine perform in this chapter. I am honored that you would take even a moment of your time to review. Thanks!

Hearts Aflame: Wait no longer. Here it is.

Twinkle 22: Ah yes, the mystery of Christine's stage name. You have picked up on my subtle hints and understand that it will be of great importance. You will be relieved to find that it is revealed below. Sorry for the delayed post.

erikfan: Thank you so much once again for your help and support! In response to your lovely compliments, I do see Erik as a very complex man. In a way, his face is symbolic of his personality, split in two conflicting personas. One is very dark and hardened, the other is sensitive and has a great capacity to love; in my mind, he has just never been shown how. And I do try to have Christine grow and deepen in character throughout the course of my fics. Her character in Leroux is so passive and flighty. I try to give her a depth worthy of Erik by the end of the fic. Otherwise, in truth, I wouldn't be able to stand her.

xxphantomphanessxx: Three cheers for Nadir! Our hero. But will Erik take this opportunity, or will he allow his insecurities to once again keep him from his love? Tune in next time for "When Fate is Denied". JK – You will know the answer by the end of the chapter. Oh, and for answer to your timeline question, see the AN above.

Captain Oblivious: Ah yes, Fate is indeed cruel in her ironies. But as I mentioned before, she will take a kinder turn for a while.

Pertie: I hope this chapter meets your expectation. The good stuff is still to come, though. I left you with a bit of an evil cliffie. Forgive me.

Dark Wolf Girl15: Sorry, I misunderstood. As to the Florence twist, I did hint toward it twice earlier in the fic. The first was in Nadir's letter to Christine where he mentions that Erik always spoke fondly of Florence's beauty and unique architecture. Thus it should seem logical that he would return to it during his travels. The second was when he was seeking revenge on Jacques. He mentions that he is setting out on the last leg of his journey. If you look on a map, Geneva, Switzerland, where the "Jacques" scene takes place is very close to both the French and Italian borders. Florence is not too far away, so it would make sense that he was already heading that direction and sought to meet the messengers who were coming from Paris at that centrally located position close to both borders. Hope that clears things up!

Jema Moda: LOL! When you mentioned how your husband says he doesn't stand a chance against Erik because we all just make him what we want him to be I nearly fell off my chair laughing. That is sooooo true. (Tell him not to worry; we all love him for his understanding.) But everyone can change and grow over time and that is what it is happening to Erik in this fic. See my author's note above. And I would let you have him if Christine didn't want him since you have loved him devotedly for like twenty years, but I am afraid she will in fact still want him even after all the time that had passed. Sorry! Say "hi" to phantomann. Our prayers go with her in her current exile from internet.

xo-little-lotte-xo: I thought you would like that. I felt a little warm myself as I wrote it. Erik tan and shirtless – OMG, what a glorious sight. You see what I mean when I say that my Erik phantasies creep into my writing every once in a while. But since most on this site share them, it seems to work out well. In my other fic, I have him taking a bath and stepping out with a towel around his waste, another one of my weaker moments when my love affair with him takes over. (sigh)

Sabrina Fair: You do indeed sense an impending reunion. And it takes place in this chapter. Yay!

**Ch 14 – Of Red Roses and Black Ribbons**

Erik seated himself carefully in the shadows of the luxurious foremost box of the Teatro Comunale. He glanced at the box number printed on the stub of his ticket: box number five. _How appropriate,_ he grimaced inwardly. Though the Comunale was newly built and certainly grand, it did not match the opulence of the Opera Populaire. Then again, he reminded himself, the Opera Populaire was now a burned out shell of a building, owing ironically to the last time he had set foot in an opera house of any kind.

Though his heart leapt at the thought of hearing Christine's voice once again, he was strangely irritable. He felt undeniably ill-at-ease in the all too familiar surroundings. On one hand, the familiarity was comforting; after all, an opera house had been his home for over twenty years. On the other, however, being here reminded him uncomfortably of past sins that he would much sooner forget.

He looked back now with disgust at the way in which he had once allowed his emotions to control him. It had not been strength and power that had driven him to manipulate and terrorize in the name of his supposed love; it had been fear and weakness. Only after Christine's kiss had he suddenly found himself awakened to the unmistakable difference between single-minded obsession and the selfless agony of what it truly meant to love a woman enough to put her happiness before his own.

Now, eight long years after the dawning of that realization, here he sat at last with the purest devotion in his heart and nothing but revulsion for the actions of his former self. But that knowledge could not change the fact that he had irrevocably altered Christine's life by those actions, a life she had very nearly ended as a result.

In the past, he would have eagerly seized upon any opportunity to speak with Christine, regardless of the consequences. But now, it suddenly felt wrong somehow, even though it was she who had initially requested his audience. Though he had originally intended to seek her out following the performance, perhaps it would be better to simply make her aware of his presence and then leave the choice up to her as to whether or not she still wished to see him after all the time that had passed.

Erik leaned back in his seat, relaxing slightly now that his decision was made. He glanced down at his program for the first time. The production was "Faust" by Charles Gounod: a tale of an old man who makes a pact with the devil in order to obtain the love of an innocent young maiden, but in the end his tainted love brings about her ruin. Erik sighed. How he tired of the constant ironies that plagued his existence.

His eyes scanned the page until he came to the part of Marguerite, and then moved across to the location where Christine's name should have appeared. Another name met his eye instead, obviously the stage name the Daroga had mentioned. Looking at it closely, he read it curiously– _Signora_ _Angela de Renoir_.

For a long moment, he sat motionless, staring at the playbill in stunned disbelief. It had to be a coincidence, and yet, the more Erik thought about it, the more he became certain that it was not. Both the Daroga and the vicomte knew of his full name and both had contact with Christine in his absence. She would most certainly have known of it by the time at which she had made her mysterious choice.

Erik had no further time to ponder the significance of this fact, however, for at that moment, the overture began and the curtains drew back at last. He felt the familiar thrill of excitement, and easily became lost in both the story and the music.

Erik could identify with Faust's pain perhaps a little too closely, as the Doctor fought his tormented mind, searching for an answer to the empty riddle that had been his life. The Devil then made his entrance as Méphistophélès, offering the aging Faust in return for the pittance of his soul, youth, handsomeness, and the embrace of a maiden who had filled his heart with longing. Erik could hardly condemn the Doctor's decision to take what was offered. After all, at one time he had done the same, though the voice that had called him to eternal damnation had been of his own mind rather than that of an impudent figure in scarlet dress and a feathered cap.

As Act I drew to a close and Act II began, Erik sat up a bit straighter in his seat. Marguerite would soon make her first appearance on stage. His attention wavered from the drama before him in his impatience to see Christine, and his mind began to fill with thoughts of all that might transpire after the final curtain fell. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to the stage at the appearance of the lovely Marguerite at last.

_She is still so very lovely_ he thought, drinking in every detail of her thirstily as she made her graceful entrance. She was truly a woman at last, and no longer the little girl she had always seemed. But to his adoring eyes, the strength and maturity he saw in her now only served to make her even more appealing.

She looked positively radiant. The familiar auburn curls cascaded down her back, tied by a blue ribbon that matched the soft blue of her costume. There was an unmistakable sparkle to her eyes and her cheeks flushed with the exhilaration that he knew she only felt when on stage.

When at last she sang, it seemed as if time stopped entirely, out of reverence for the perfection that was her voice. Even in its years of disuse following her marriage to the vicomte, her golden voice had not diminished in its quality. Rather, the enchanting, heavenly sound had taken on a richer, smoother quality as she had matured, caressing his ears now like liquid beauty. He touched his unmasked cheek and realized that it was damp with the tears he had shed without noticing.

Anger and hatred colored his mind as he thought again of the vicomte's foolish attempts to keep Christine from the stage and her music. Any fool could see that she belonged in the adoring gaze of the stage lights, and to separate her from that which brought her so much joy would be like seeking to part her from her own soul.

Erik sat leaning forward slightly, entranced now by the movements and sounds coming from the stage. Christine was magnificent. Even the most unbiased observer, of which he certainly was not, would have to admit the triumph of her performance. Erik had always known the potential of her voice, but he was amazed now by the depth of her acting as well. She threw herself heart and soul into her art: demurely resisting Faust's first advances, declaring passionately her love for him from the window, yielding to desire at last, then lamenting in remorse and shame as Marguerite was crushed beneath the weight of her sin and abandonment.

In the final act, as Marguerite was at last granted redemption and Faust was left to his eternal damnation, Erik once again began to ponder the events that would take place after the final curtain. Now that he had seen Christine again, he doubted his own ability to follow through with his plan. If she would speak with him just for a moment, he felt it would be enough to sustain him through the remainder of the lonely years of his life. And yet he knew without a doubt that one moment in her addictive presence would never be enough. He was torn between his aching desire to know why she wished to see him and the stubborn belief that it would be wrong to seek her company after he had caused her so much pain.

The final curtain did not await his decision, but instead swung closed all too quickly following several ovations for the superb cast, of which the applause for Marguerite was by far the most enthusiastic. As the audience began gradually to mill away, Erik drew in a sharp breath. It was now or never. As he contemplated his next move, he thought once again of the curious stage name that Christine had chosen.

_Signora Angela de Renoir_ – the words sparked hope in his heart that somehow he might have misunderstood her feelings for him. If she truly feared him and wished never to be reminded of him, why would she have chosen to adopt his surname? Of course, there was always the possibility that it had been merely a coincidence, another one of Fate's cruel ironies, but somehow this time it didn't seem that way. No, he had the sudden thrilling feeling that Christine had been trying to send him a message by choosing that particular name. Turning to slip from the box into the shadows of the hall, he resolved that tonight he would find out exactly what she had meant by it.

Christine fought her way through the sea of admirers and well-wishers littering the foyer of the Teatro Comunale. She normally would have taken the backstage hallway to her dressing room after a performance to avoid exactly this kind of unwanted attention, but tonight she was looking for someone in the crowd. She murmured her thanks distractedly to a handsome young man who gushed lavishly over her performance, and quickly extricated herself from the adoring faces.

She began to climb the stairs, desperate for a better view. Scanning the faces anxiously, she looked for the flash of white among them that would reveal his location. Christine was nearly certain that he was there, though she hadn't yet seen him. Her voice tonight had once again possessed that enchanted quality that she hadn't found since the last time she had been in his magical presence, performing eight years ago upon the stage of the Opera Populaire.

Her heart filled with crushing disappointment as the foyer began to empty at last, and she realized that he was either already gone, or had never truly been present at all. She stepped back down to the lower level and began the long walk to her dressing room, the full skirt of her costume rustling in the silence of the corridors.

She had been so sure this time! She had poured her heart and soul into her performance tonight, eager to please him. But once again, her triumph was empty, as he had not been present to hear as she offered her heart and soul to him.

Christine couldn't help herself. The anguish of waiting for him to return to her against all odds had finally become overwhelming. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she allowed herself at last to admit defeat. He had known of her desire to see him for nearly two years now and yet he had never sought her out. His answer was clear.

The tears came hot and fast now as she entered the final hallway and pulled the key from her pocket to unlock her dressing room door. Stepping inside, she turned to lock it behind her, and then made her way miserably past vase upon vase of expensive flowers to change.

Suddenly, her eye caught something crimson atop the surface of her dressing table. At the sight of it, her heart ceased its beating for one long moment. There on the table lay the single perfect red rose tied in a black satin ribbon that she had been awaiting so long.

She stood staring at it in disbelief at first, then reached for it cautiously, as if fearing it would disappear upon her touch. Holding it reverently in her hand she raised the fragrant bloom to her face, bringing the velvet petals to rest against her lips. Her eyes closed and she smiled. "Angel," she whispered in relief.

All at once, she felt the gentle touch of leather on her cheek, brushing away her tears. Her eyes flew open wide. There he stood in all his dark glory and masculine grace. The striking blue-gray of his eyes met her own with the same inner fire that she remembered so clearly.

Christine's breath caught as Erik drew closer, leaning his mouth down to her ear. Her blood leapt at his familiar scent and warm breath against her skin. She trembled visibly, awaiting eagerly the touch of his lips, but instead he whispered softly, "Can I assume from your reaction, Signora de Renoir, that you have missed me in my long absence?"


	15. The World is Made Right

**A/N:** I would just like to remind you from the previous chapter that at first, Erik had fully planned on going to Christine after the production. Then, the more he thought about it, the more he wavered, wondering if he should maybe just alert her to his presence, then leave the decision of whether or not to see him up to her. In the end, his desire to see her overcame his insecurities, and he turned up in true Erik fashion. But just remember, he did, in the first place, plan on seeing her tonight. That will be important later on. Also, I have included the last line from the previous chapter since this one is a continuation of it.

darklady5289: Thanks! Glad you liked it. More EC fluff and Erik phantasies for you all.

phantomann: You are the world's most awesome reviewer! (Oh, and Jema of course.) Paying long distance internet charges from your beach vacation just to give me a review – Wow! I am so humbled by your devotion. I feel my muse returning now that I have heard from you once again. If you liked the romantic stuff in the last chapter, you will be able to swim in the fluff of this one!

Kagome1514: Don't apologize. You are among friends. We are all EC dorks here, your friendly author, perhaps most of all. And I plan to read your fic, I just have to finish writing this one first.

Hearts Aflame: Cookies...Yay! No, I had better not accept them. I am trying to keep my girlish figure so that someday when Erik finally realizes I am the one for him, I will be ready for our heated love scenes. (Slaps self in face to return to reality.) Okay, I will never have him. Hand over the cookies.

eternalcelestial: Glad you are loving it, much more EC fluff to come.

Twinkle 22: Wait no longer. Just look at the chapter title and you will see.

erikfan: I love your description of Erik: A devote dark lover with a domestic side. Ooooh. I love that "dark lover" thing. Can I quote you one that? I could use it in one of the next chapters...(Grins wickedly like Erik.)

draegon-fire: The answer to your question will unfortunately not come in this chapter, but perhaps in the next one. Never fear, all will be revealed in time. But Erik _will_ get the reassurance he is seeking in this chapter.

xxphantomphanessxx: Here is a tissue. Don't worry, check out the title of the chapter – all will be well. (At least for a little while.) And of course you won't stop. You are an addict like the rest of us. Be proud.

Captain Oblivious: Togetherness is good, but you had better go and clean up that confetti. Erik has a bit of an obsessive-compulsive disorder and that will mess up his universe. And how is this for a promise, they will never willingly leave each other's side again. (Of course there is a slight loophole to my promise. Please don't take out the sword, though.)

MadameOG: Hurray! You are back. You make me blush with your faith in my writing skills. I guarantee that you will not cry for a while and I won't kill off Christine prematurely this time. Does that reassure you?

Pertie: Where are you, dear? We miss you.

Dark Wolf Girl15: Sorry for the evil cliffie, but I am glad you laughed instead of cursing me. Don't worry, this chapter picks up right where the other left off.

ilustgerik: I hear you. Sigh.

Jema Moda: Everyone needs to check out Jema's infamous "toast" review. I honestly burst out laughing when I read it. Erik is indeed so hot when he is arrogant. Okay, he is pretty much hot all the way around. And Jema, I am now releasing Erik from "Pause" mode. Although if I was Christine, he could stand there breathing in my ear for as long as he wanted. Hugs for all your encouragement in my melancholy over the weekend. I will email you tonight regarding your fic, but I have got some stuff I have to do first after posting this.

Sabrina Fair: sorry. i am evil.

dramatic-singer: Thank you! Welcome to the fic. Glad you like it!

Abby Kovac: Welcome aboard. We won't find out the story behind Christine's stage name in this chapter, but perhaps the next one. But yes, she did indeed choose it on purpose.

**At the close of the last chapter, we left our hero and heroine right about here...**

All at once, she felt the gentle touch of leather on her cheek, brushing away her tears. Her eyes flew open wide. There he stood in all his dark glory and masculine grace. The striking blue-gray of his eyes met her own with the same inner fire that she remembered so clearly. Christine's breath caught as Erik drew closer, leaning his mouth down to her ear. Her blood leapt at his familiar scent and warm breath against her skin. She trembled visibly, awaiting eagerly the touch of his lips, but instead he whispered softly, "Can I assume from your reaction, Signora de Renoir, that you have missed me in my long absence?"

**Ch. 15 – The World is Made Right**

Erik held his breath. He had taken an enormous chance in voicing his assumption at the meaning of her tears. He searched her face, waiting for some sign that he had been right. At first, Christine only stared at him as if unable to believe he was real. Then, she lowered her head, her shoulders beginning to shake. God in heaven, what if he had been wrong once again?

He laid his hand alongside her face, lifting it gently so that she was forced to meet his eyes. "Christine, I am sorry if I frightened you. I obviously made a mistake." His blue-gray eyes were pleading as they fought desperately to see what lay behind the tears in her soft, brown eyes.

"Forgive me," he said quietly, his voice breaking slightly. "I've no wish to cause you any more pain. I shall of course leave at once. I promise that you won't see me again." He lowered his hand and turned to leave, his battered heart dying slowly inside his chest as he strode towards the door.

"No! Oh God no, Erik, please don't leave!" Christine's voice, when she finally found it, would only come out in an anguished sob. He turned in surprise and nearly stumbled backwards as she threw herself headlong into his arms.

Christine clung desperately to the front of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls in her tiny hands as if to physically prevent him from leaving. She buried her face in his chest and began to sob desperately. "Oh Erik, please don't ever leave again. I...I couldn't bear it. I would surely die if I lost you now that you have finally come back to me. Please, please..."

Erik stood motionless for a moment, wondering fleetingly if he had heard her correctly. He had sensed that perhaps she had missed him by the way she had reacted to his rose. But he had never dreamt that she may have longed for him as desperately as he had for her over the past eight years. Instinctively, he raised a gloved hand to stroke her head. "Hush, Christine. It is all right. I won't leave if you don't want me to." He continued to hold her until her sobs ceased and she raised her face at last to his.

She blushed and suddenly seemed shy, as if she had just noticed that she was hanging on to him for dear life. "I am so sorry, Erik. It's just that I have been waiting for you so long. I...I didn't know where you had gone, and I had so much that I wanted to tell you." She leaned her forehead against his chest. "I was just so afraid you would disappear again where I could never find you," she whispered helplessly.

Erik was touched by her uncertainty. "Far be it from me to complain when a lovely lady wishes to throw herself into my arms," he said with an amused grin. In truth, he was ecstatic that Christine had come to him so willingly. The single tiny seed of hope that had brought him to her dressing room after all his noble efforts to stay away was multiplying a thousand times over every moment she remained in his arms.

Erik leaned his chin down to rest on the top of her bent head, luxuriating in the scent of her hair, pulling her as close to him as breathing would allow. They stood there many long moments, saying nothing, each reveling in the comfort of the other's arms.

Christine felt she must surely be in heaven. Her Angel was here at last, strong and solid in her arms. The intoxicating exotic scent of him was making her vaguely dizzy and she felt a distinct heat spreading through her body at his closeness. She was no longer the innocent that she had been before the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, and she at last knew what it was her body was screaming for every time she felt the touch of his hand or heard his rich, deep voice.

She pulled back from him slightly, enough to look up into his face. Her brown eyes searched it lovingly, taking in every feature from his strong jaw to his striking eyes which were burning with the same fire she felt coursing through her veins. Even under her hungry gaze, Erik remained motionless, lest any movement might frighten her from his arms. In the end, it was Christine who could resist no longer and curved an arm around Erik's neck to bring his wide, sensual mouth to cover her own.

At the contact, the years of pent-up longing burst forth, the sparks of electricity that had always passed between them igniting at once into a raging blaze. Their bodies pressed into each other with wild abandon, craving one another after so many years apart. His careful control slipping away, Erik's one hand tangled in her hair, forcing her mouth harshly against his own. He felt it open beneath the pressure of his own and his tongue dipped inside to explore the sweetness of her mouth. Christine moaned softly, and the sound invaded his senses, urging him onward, but a tiny voice reminded him that although every fiber of his being called out for him to have her at last right here on the floor of her dressing room, such a thing was hardly romantic and he wanted their first experience together to be worthy of her. Besides, there was far too much to be discussed first. He needed to understand the past before he could think about the future.

Though his body berated him inwardly, Erik at last broke the contact of their mouths, gently turning her head so that her cheek once more rested against his chest. "I am sorry my love. I did not mean to take such liberties."

Christine looked up at him, her eyes still clouded by desire. "Please don't apologize, Erik. I have wanted this since before I understood what it was." She raised a hand gently to the unmasked side of his face, her gaze falling on his lips. "I think we have waited long enough," she whispered and stood on tip toe, intending to kiss him again, but he placed a finger gently over her lips to still her.

Erik stepped back from her with a dashing bow. "Milady, though there is nothing on earth that I would enjoy more than making love to you," he smiled wickedly, taking in her swollen lips and delightfully mussed hair, "I have made other plans for us this evening," he said mysteriously, smiling at her obvious disappointment.

Christine could see the unmistakable gleam of mischief in his eyes and found she could not be angry with him even for a second. Not after all the time she had wasted at it before. Laughing brightly, she smiled up into his face. "Why good sir, what did you have in mind?"

"How do you feel about a late night adventure, Signora?" His eyes held a note of challenge, as if waiting to see if she truly trusted him enough to place herself entirely in his hands. "My horse is waiting outside. There is something I would like to show you."

He held out his hand. Without hesitation, Christine placed her hand in his. "Lead on, Angel. I will follow anywhere you lead," she said softly.

Erik drew her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it softly as he led her out the door. She reached for her cloak with her other on the way out, wondering what sort of adventure Erik had in mind. Her heart raced at the thought that whatever it was, it was sure to be unique and exciting, just as he was.

The alley was quite deserted when they emerged from a hidden side door of the Teatro Comunale. Christine wondered briefly how Erik had known of it, but then gave up the effort, accepting in the end that Erik would always be Erik and his mysterious knowledge would never cease to amaze her. In the mist of the late hour, a large black horse stood pawing the ground. Erik whistled softly, and the powerful beast stepped forward. Erik paused to give his nose a gentle rub, then turned to Christine. "Would you like help getting up?"

Christine smiled at his sensitivity in asking her whether she wished for help rather than simply assuming it as Raoul had always done. It had annoyed her to no end that he had never felt her capable of doing anything on her own, always treating her as a child. "No thank you. I can manage it." She raised her foot to the stirrup and pulled herself up, settling herself side saddle and arranging her skirts around her.

Erik looked amused. "You may want to reconsider your current position, my dear. The hills are very steep and we will be traveling relatively quickly." He patted the horse's flank fondly. "Demon is a well tempered animal, but high spirited. It would perhaps be safer if you rode in a less lady-like fashion."

Christine nodded and swung her left leg over the saddle. In truth, she did feel far more secure. When Erik swung his powerful frame up behind her, her breath caught. Would she ever grow used to the sparks that shot through her every time their bodies came into contact? She hoped not. The feeling was delicious, like a promise of something thrilling to come.

Erik reached for the reigns with one hand and wrapped his other securely around her waist. He clucked something to the horse and the animal took off at full gallop through the alleys behind the opera house. Christine found it difficult to breathe in her excitement. She had never been allowed to ride at anything past a canter with any of the horses in the de Chagny stable. Raoul had always instructed the stable personnel to prevent her from it, arguing patiently against her protests that he would not allow her to come to any harm.

Now, flying with abandon through the back streets of Florence with the dark man behind her who was not bound by the same chains of propriety and social convention, Christine had never felt more alive.

After a time, Erik turned the horse to a steep path that seemed to lead high up onto one of the many hills surrounding the city. Their pace did not slow, even though the path had now reached a startling incline.

Finally, the ground began to level off and Erik reigned in the horse at last. They seemed to have reached an open cobbled square. In the moonlight, Christine could make out what appeared to be benches and trees. Erik swung down and raised a hand to help her as she stepped from the horse.

Christine smoothed a hand over the wrinkles in her skirt while Erik removed a pack from the saddle bag and tied Demon securely to a fence. As Christine raised her eyes to look around her, she noticed a number of what appeared to be small open-air cafes, all obviously closed for the night with the chairs put up neatly on the tables.

"The Piazzale Michelangelo," Erik stated simply, noticing the direction of her gaze, "a popular place at sunset, but quite deserted by this time of night, I assure you. Come." He held out his hand once again and she smiled as she took it. "Our destination is just over here." Christine kept her eyes carefully fixed on Erik's broad shoulders, but as they rounded the curve of the hill, she glanced up and stopped abruptly, transfixed by the beauty of the view that met her eyes.

The lights of Florence lay in the valley beneath her, covered in a thin veil of mist. And above them, the deep purple of the sky hung like an elegant cloak, littered with twinkling jewels. "Erik, it's beautiful," she whispered. He nodded, but tugged gently on her hand, leading her through a wrought iron gate to her left. On the warm spring air, she could suddenly detect the unmistakable scent of flowers. As Erik drew aside, she gasped. All around her were roses, as far as her eye could see, every one of them bathed in silver moonlight, and just below them to the northeast, the same enchanting view she had witnessed before.

She stood in awe for a moment, while Erik removed several items from his pack. Turning her attention curiously to his movements, she watched as he spread a blanket on the grass and removed a flask of wine, two glasses, a loaf of bread, cheese, and several pieces of fruit. Finally, he lit a lantern and eased himself elegantly onto the blanket.

"Would you care to join me, Signora de Renoir?" He gestured toward the blanket, a hint of roguishness in his eyes.

Christine arched an eyebrow at his request. Stretched easily on the blanket, his lean, muscular frame was the picture of lithe, masculine grace. The glow of the lamp highlighted the white of his mask, his strong jaw, and the tanned skin beneath his shirt which was open slightly at the neck. She had never seen him without a cravat before, but his casual appearance was even more enticing than his usual formality. Lounging there like some sort of exotic jungle cat, his masculine appeal was devastating. She felt her blood began to warm and a blush colored her cheeks. She broke the heated contact of their eyes and wondered whether he had noticed her frank appraisal.

"For supper, my dear. Nothing improper, I assure you." He gave her a wicked smile, reaching out his hand to her and all resolve melted away. She took it and gracefully set herself down beside him, nervously arranging her skirts. Now that he was so near, she had no idea of what to do or say, and she felt suddenly shy though only minutes before she had been fairly begging him to ravish her on the floor of her dressing room. It had been so long since she had been this close to his sensual, magnetic presence, and so many misunderstandings stood between them. She wasn't certain where to start. Erik poured her a glass of wine and she sipped it gratefully, feeling its warmth spread to her tense limbs and its soothing effect begin to quiet her anxious mind.

"Erik, what is this place?" she asked at last for want of something better to say. Erik glanced up at her. "We are in the Giardino delle Rose. To your right is the Giardino dell'Iris. I visited this place once before in my travels and had always wished to bring you, knowing how much you enjoy flowers." He smiled. "We are fortunate that it is May, for it is during this month that the gardens are at their most magnificent."

Christine studied him for a moment. He had no doubt waited many years for her to come here with him, never knowing if it would ever be. She lowered her eyes in shame. "Erik, I am so sorry."

Erik raised his hand to lift her chin. In the glow of the lantern, she was so very beautiful. And here she sat with him of her own free will, in this place where he had always longed to bring her. He felt as if his heart would burst with the joy of it. "Whatever for, darling?"

Christine would not meet his eyes. "For everything. For all the pain I have caused you, for all the time that we have spent apart, everything." She twisted the fabric of her skirt in her hands.

Erik was quiet for a moment. "Christine, I do not pretend to understand all that has happened between us, but I have certainly contributed to our difficulties over the years as well. I was not a man who could ever hope to deserve you back then, and I proved it beyond a doubt by my actions on the night of the opera fire. I don't blame you for the choice you made," he said softly. As he spoke the words, he knew they were true at last.

At first, he _had_ indeed blamed her, believing that her choice the night of the opera fire was responsible for his continued misery. During the latter years of their separation, however, when he had at last ventured a more honest reflection on the events of that fateful night, he had come to see clearly that it had been his own actions that had ensured his own unhappiness.

Christine sighed, her eyes filling with tears. "Raoul was never the choice of my heart, Erik. Only the choice of my mind seeking an easier future than the one I believed we would have together."

Erik nodded in understanding. It was certainly true that life with him back then would have proved a challenge at best and a nightmare at worst. He looked away. What he would give to take back all he had done in the past so that she might only see him as the man he was now.

Christine looked over at Erik, who remained lost in thought. He looked so vulnerable, suddenly, and she wished once more she could take away all the pain he had endured over his lifetime. After how much he had already suffered by her hand, she sought now to reassure him of her heart.

"I came back, you know." Erik looked up at her words. Christine held his gaze. "Three days after the fire, I came back fully intending to stay with you." Erik's eyes widened. He had not known.

"But you were gone. I cried so hard that night, but deep down I still believed you would come for me. Then I read of your death," at this she closed her eyes remembering the pain, "and a part of me died with you."

Erik closed his eyes. She had come back to him after all. He felt the huge gaping whole in his heart that had been created when Christine had sailed off with the vicomte mended in an instant. There was one more thing that he needed to know. It would be difficult for her to talk about, he knew, but it was the one thing holding him back from making her his once and for all.

Erik raised himself to a sitting position and took both of Christine's hands in his own. Searching her eyes, he spoke quietly. "Christine, there is something I must ask you. I know it will be painful for you to talk about, but I must know."

Christine nodded slowly. Gently, he turned her hands over so that they were palm-up to the light of the lantern. He had long since removed his gloves, and with his thumbs he traced the faint lines of the scars that had haunted him for the past two years. Lifting his eyes back up to her face, he asked softly, "Why?"

Christine sighed, but she did not look away. "There were so many reasons, Erik. I did it mainly because I regretted the choices I had made: for the dream I had given up, for the pain I had caused you, but mostly I did it for the love that I thought I had lost when I believed you had died." Her eyes studied his face, attempting to discern his reaction.

Erik did not immediately respond, but rather seemed to be taking in her words. At last, he spoke, his eyes searching hers intently. "You did attempt to end your life because you feared I would take you away or do you harm?" he asked quietly.

Christine's mouth flew open in horror. "Of course not, Erik. I could never fear you! I have loved you since I was a little girl. You are intense and overwhelming at times, and I know you have a violent past, but still I would trust you with my life above anyone else in the world." Her hand reached out to touch his cheek in reassurance.

Erik felt as if an enormous weight had been removed from his shoulders. His heart pounding, he realized that the last imagined barrier between them had been stripped away by her words.

His relief and adoration showing clearly in his eyes, he reached for her hand that lay against his cheek and kissed its palm. "We are indeed a fine pair. Both of us too proud to simply ask the questions that would have made our lives so much easier." He smiled sadly, thinking of all the suffering they had both endured needlessly for so long. "But in the end, it seems our suffering has served a purpose. We have both changed and grown so much over the years. Perhaps we are at last ready for the journey that lies ahead of us if we choose the road that has been hidden from us for so long."

Tears welled in Christine's eyes and he raised his hand to brush them away once more.

"Come, let's speak of something more pleasant. For example, I saw a most excellent opera this evening. I found the lead soprano particularly impressive." Christine laughed at the sudden playfulness in his eyes. She had never seen him so relaxed and his charm was irresistible.

For a time they were lost in conversation, discussing the finer points of the evening's performance. They finished their meal and the remainder of the wine, talking and laughing late into the night.

At last, Christine felt her eyes began to grow heavy. Erik raised himself up on one elbow and drew her body against his own, wrapping his arms around her. "Sleep for a bit if you wish, mon ange. I will watch over you." Christine smiled as she lay her head drowsily against his chest.

Erik lay gazing at the stars above, Christine snuggled contentedly in his arms. Looking up to the heavens, he silently said a prayer of thanks to the deity whose existence he had denied for so long. He had truly been granted a miracle. He thought suddenly that nothing on earth could ever bring him as much joy as he felt in that moment.

Just then, Christine murmured something into the fabric of his shirt. "What's that darling?" he asked gently. Her eyes remained closed, but she smiled sleepily, "I said I love you, Erik." He had been wrong.


	16. Those Left Behind

**A/N:** Sorry to leave our lovers for a moment, but other events are taking place back in Paris that deserve our attention as well. I didn't get to my explanation of Christine's stage name in this chapter after all, but it will come, along with much more EC fluff very soon.

**For my comments on the EC physical intimacy dilemma, see my remarks to draegon-fire below.**

darklady5289: I hear ya sister, but you are preaching to the choir.

phantomann: Oooooh goody! So nice to hear from you. No of course there won't be any more angst at all. Everyone will live happily ever after, I promise. (Feigns innocence.) I have been to the Piazzale Michelangelo, but I didn't get to see the gardens. They are real, though. I looked them up. Please, please, PLEASE hurry back.

Kagome1514: We should have a "biggest EC dork contest" or something. I bet the competition would be pretty fierce, however.

Hearts Aflame: A lifetime supply of sinful sweets for MEEE! Hurray! However, you might want to take them back after this chapter, so maybe you had better hold up that line of trucks for a few minutes until you have read it.

eternalcelestial: Thank you! Loving your reviews so much.

Twinkle 22: Didn't get to the stage name thing yet, but I will, don't worry. You have caught onto something to come though. (Wink) PS – Is this ASAP enough?

Orphelia-Rose: LOL! Yes, on a hill with Erik amongst the roses seems like a lovely way to spend the night, doesn't it? You see, that is how I keep you all hooked. I come up with these Erik phantasies that you all can just insert yourselves into. It may be cheap, but it works. BTW – This chapter has no EC fluff, but it does have one of those "twists and turns" you seem fond of. Welcome to the fic and thanks for your kind words.

erikfan: Yes, Erik is growing up a lot as well. I figure by 40, he should be beginning to mature some. And yes, Erik will always be seductive (le sigh). And I will make a point to use your the "dark lover" thing in the big love scene coming up shortly because I love it SOOO much.

draegon-fire: "Beyond uber sexy" – yep, sounds like Erik all right. Yes, I agree, they weren't ready to take things physically to the next level, but you have to imagine that the sexual tension has really been building over the past eight years and even before. I would think the moment they came into physical contact, it has to become forefront on both their minds. So I felt I had to acknowledge it in their first encounter, but I chose not to let them take it all the way. E and C's relationship has always had a deeply physical as well as spiritual connection. Joel Schumacher talks about it in the Special Edition DVD commentary.

xxphantomphanessxx: Okay, you caught me. This chapter should give you a hint of the troubles to come. But there will be much EC fluff first, I promise.

MadameOG: I am flattered that you went "EEEEEEE" at the end of the last chapter. Hopefully I will have that same effect on you in later chapters!

Pertie: Yay! You are back with us. Glad you liked the last two chapters; here is number 16, just for you tonight.

lafemme540: Ah yes, the sex issue. See my comments to draegon-fire above. But I do think Erik also desperately wishes to court Christine like a normal man, and this is his unique attempt. (Heck, it would work for me.) Remember he mentions that in his internal monologue once before. It was in the den with Nadir when he was staring out the window watching all the happy normal people on the street. Erik makes a comment of that nature in Leroux as well, when he speaks of how he wants to have a wife that he can take for a walk on Sundays, or something of that nature. (I lent my copy to my sister so I can't look up the exact quote.)

xo-little-lotte-xo: No problem, glad to have you back. E and C have a lot of history together and many shared interests, unlike R and C. So it is logical, at least to me, that once the old baggage is cleared away, their friendship would easily resume.

Jema Moda: Yep, both toast. But I haven't gotten to the good stuff yet. I had a few other plot details to work in first. I may ask for your help when I get to it, though. I am never very comfortable with that stuff, but I want to do it justice. Keep working on that fic, woman.

Sabrina Fair: You, me, and every other woman on this site, dear.

Abby Kovac: Here you are, my dear - two chapters in one day. How is that for fast?

**Ch. 16 – Those Left Behind**

Philippe threw down his cards in disgust. "Well, boys, I do believe I have made all of you enough money by my wretched luck. I bid you good night." He stood abruptly and excused himself from the table. The men seated around it loudly protested his exit, but Philippe held no illusions that it was his pleasing company they felt they were being deprived of.

He made his way through the riff raff of the smoke-filled room, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd for the face of his brother. The place was unusually crowded tonight and it took many moments for Philippe to reach the back of the room. At last he saw Raoul alone at a corner table, his eyes appearing slightly glazed over and out-of-focus. _Drunk again._ Philippe gave a snort of disgust.

Reaching him at last, Philippe settled himself in the opposite chair and lit a cigar. "I would have thought by now you would have found yourself a lovely lady to take your mind off your troubles." As he spoke, his own eyes wandered to the low-cut bodice of the serving wench who was waiting on the next table where a thin, dark man sat alone.

Raoul glared at him. "A lovely lady is exactly what brought me to this wretched state, dear brother."

Philippe chuckled. "Ah, and a good romp with another shall bring you out of it. That is the nature of the beast, my boy. After all, you've been living like a damn priest for the last... What is it now, anyway?"

"Two years."

"Right." Philippe paused to study his brother. "It is time for you to start thinking of marrying again. You have a duty, you realize."

Raoul gave a hollow laugh. "As I recall, it was you who advised me to put aside my first wife."

"Yes, well, that first one was nothing but trouble from the start - damn opera trash who cared nothing for you or your station. I've always thought it a pity that you happened upon the traitorous wench the first time before all that commoner blood could escape from her miserable veins."

Raoul leapt from his seat, closing his hands tightly around his brother's throat. "Shut your mouth! You are talking about my _wife_," he snarled.

Philippe thrust his arms away, sending Raoul staggering back into the wall with a thud. In the din of the crowd, no one seemed to notice, except for the thin man at the next table. Philippe stepped forward so that his face was inches from that of Raoul's own. Dragging his brother's limp form upright against the wall by the lapels, Philippe eyed him coldly with distaste.

"Need I remind you, _Vicomte_ that the woman you so nobly defend left you for the arms of another man, those of a deformed murderer wearing a mask, no less. She is no longer your wife, boy, of her own choosing. You have dishonored this family and shirked your duties long enough. In the morning when you have sobered sufficiently, I expect you ready to discuss this matter with some sense. I have had enough of your moping. You are a de Chagny. Show some honor, man." He released his hands from the lapels of Raoul's coat, allowing him to sink to the floor. Turning abruptly, he left him there.

Raoul sat staring after him stupidly for a moment. His head ached already and he now had an unpleasant morning appointment with his brother to look forward to along with his inevitable hangover. Suddenly, a hand reached forth to help him to his feet. Raoul accepted it gratefully and allowed the stranger to guide him back to his seat.

"I couldn't help but overhear monsieur. Sounds like you and I have had a similar run of bad luck as of late." The stranger seated himself in the chair Philippe had abandoned earlier.

Raoul nodded wearily, his attention focused on the nearly empty glass of scotch on the table before him. He raised his hand to attract the attention of one of the servers.

The man continued. "Bit of trouble with the wife, eh?"

Raoul eyed him suspiciously, wondering exactly just how much he had heard. The man had dark, greasy hair and his eyes had a sharp look about them. He was thin to the point of being gaunt, and his cheekbones protruded sharply, giving him a sunken-faced appearance.

The man extended his hand. "The name is Jacques, Jacques de Boir."

Raoul shook the offered hand warily. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled, without much enthusiasm. _Where is that server?_ He thought impatiently.

Jacques eyed him with a smirk, thinking smugly that his own luck seemed to be taking a turn for the better at the moment. It was almost too perfect. The very man he had returned to Paris to find, after a year in a Swiss jail, had nearly fallen into his lap - literally.

He had been sitting at the next table during the two gentlemen's conversation, listening with interest in particular to the detail about an opera singer who had run off with a masked murderer. Still, he had been uncertain of the connection until he had heard clearly the older gentleman call the young man before him, 'Vicomte' and let slip his family name.

Now, Jacques could hardly hide his delight at this golden opportunity for both wealth and revenge.

Jacques leaned close to the well dressed man across the table. "I believe I have some information in my possession that may be of interest to you, Vicomte." He withdrew from his pocket a crumpled, dirty piece of white parchment that smelled strongly of manure.

Raoul recoiled from the stench. "Good Lord, man. Put that away."

Jacques was undeterred. "I didn't bring it all the way from Switzerland for its enchanting odor. It is the information that it contains that I thought might be of use to you."

Jacques took his handkerchief from his pocket and spread the letter out on the table, straightening its edges and wiping away the soil as best he could. He then turned the paper and slid it across the surface of the table for the Vicomte's inspection.

Raoul's face continued to reflect his disgust, but he reached for the crumpled paper and attempted to will his bleary eyes into focus.

It was clear that the first part of the letter was missing, but Raoul's eyes widened as he understood at once why the man seemed so certain of its value.

_...concerning her current location. You will be pleased to learn that Christine has rejoined the opera, and is now the reigning prima donna of the Teatro Comunale in Florence, though she has resumed her career under the stage name of 'Angela de Renoir'. Her marriage to the Vicomte de Chagny has been annulled at her own request, and she is desperate to reach you. It seems there is much that you two need to discuss following this unexpected turn of events. She asks that you contact her at her new home as soon as possible. _

_Once again, I hope that my letter finds you well, dear friend, as it seems the winds of change are at last blowing your way. _

_Your devoted friend,_

_Nadir Khan_

After several long moments, Raoul raised his eyes to those of the sunken-faced man. "Where did you get this?" He seemed entirely sober now.

"Let's just say I had a little altercation with the masked man you spoke of earlier." Jacques face took on a nasty, violent look.

Raoul paled as he imagined that the man might demand money for his silence or even worse, mean to harm Christine in some way. "What is it that you want?"

Jacques smiled. The conversation was certainly moving in a favorable direction. "I ask only for reasonable compensation for the information and my services."

Raoul released a breath of relief. "How much?"

Jacques studied his face intently. "Fifty thousand francs."

Raoul laughed. "You are clearly out of your mind, monsieur. The information you brought me may reveal my wife's location, but it does not change the fact that she is obviously there with the bastard of her own free will."

Jacques's smile widened. "Ah, but I said the price included my services as well. You have not yet inquired as to what those services may be."

Raoul shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around him nervously. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"I am an assassin by trade, monsieur. Surely you can guess what it is that I propose? The masked man who has caused such pain to you has also earned my own undying hatred. I would like nothing more than to end his miserable life in the most painful manner imaginable, but as I would be doing you a favor as well, I think it only fair that I be paid for my efforts." He leaned back in his chair, confident that his offer would be well received.

Raoul drained what was left in his glass, considering the man's offer. No matter how much he wished the monster dead, he had never before so much as dreamed of giving in to his desire for vengeance.

"I am sorry, monsieur, but you have wasted your time. As much as I despise the man you speak of, I will not disgrace myself by being a party to your efforts." He stood up and moved to leave.

Jacques leapt from his seat to intercept him, knowing his meal ticket was now at stake. "Forgive me, monsieur, but I beg of you to reconsider. The masked man was traveling alone when I last saw him a year ago. He never received the information in this letter. It is entirely likely that if we were to act in haste, your wife need never cross paths with this demon again. As you said yourself, Vicomte, the man is a murderer. If he were to be caught by the authorities, he would surely be hanged. Were the blood to remain entirely on my hands, is it truly such a sin for you to ensure that justice is done."

Raoul looked away. The muscles of his jaw tightened, as he measured Jacques's words. If the man were to succeed, perhaps he still had a chance of winning Christine back. After all, she had married him once thinking the creature dead. Was it really so absurd to think she might do so again? And even if she didn't, it was certainly true that the man was a criminal and deserved to die.

His face hardened in resolve. Christine was worth any price, and the monster's life was a small one to pay. He had made his decision.

Still, as Raoul withdrew the money, he couldn't help feeling that what he was really purchasing was his own ticket straight to hell, selling his soul for a woman who longed only for Satan himself.

His eyes cold and determined, Raoul raised his head. "When do we leave?"


	17. New Beginnings

**A/N:** See the end of the chapter. I don't want to give stuff away before you read it.

But I do promise that this chapter does come with a **100 Raoul-Free Guarantee** so enjoy the lack of Raoul!

ilustgerik: Yes, in the words of Scooby Doo, "Ruh-roh." Well said

phantomann: Hee hee – So I caught you unawares, eh. Hurray! I thought you might appreciate my evil plot twist. Of course there will be no shortage of fluff before the action begins. As to the killing Erik off thing, well you will have to wait and see like everybody else. Sorry! (Evil cackle) PS – Go buy some paper. I gotta know when Tina and Erik are going to hook up. When are you coming back, woman? Jema and I are in withdrawal.

Kagome1514: "Stupid Raoul...stupid fop" – I couldn't have said it better myself. Erik caught Jacques offguard and quite drunk last time, so he will most likely prove a more challenging adversary this time, but yeah, his chances of killing the Erik are about the same as my chances of being spirited away by a certain masked fictional character. Still, Jacques and I continue to dream our impossible dreams...sigh.

Hearts Aflame: Awwww. I love forgiving readers who will allow me my sinful plot twists and love me anyway. Erik plushies to you, my dear. (Still don't know what those are. Like a little stuffed Erik doll, is that it? Hmmmm. Can you get them in life-size I wonder? With a wicked grin, DD runs off in search of the nearest toy store.)

eternalcelestial: More fluff for you. I am glad you enjoy all my twists and turns.

Twinkle 22: Love the "I hate Raoul" rant. No Raoul in this one, I promise. Only EC. And please don't die. I am still trying to update as quickly as my busy life allows.

Orphelia-Rose: Manure/Raoul – yes the two words do seem to go together, don't they? Ahhhh, but careful, Jacques is hardly a new character. We saw him back in chapters 11 and 12, remember? Hanging by his ankles like a ham in a butcher shop window? And yes, Erik has bested them both once already, but Jacques and Raoul are hardly likely to fight fair. Let us hope that Erik's newfound happiness will not diminish his skills of self preservation.

erikfan: Loved your little comment about the Raoul getting the "fate he deserves" rather than it being "denied". LOL! Yeah, Erik should get some payback, don't you think?

draegon-fire: Right. Jacques and Raoul do not know that Nadir has already conveyed the message in person without the second page of the letter. They are operating under the assumption that E and C have not yet hooked up. So now the question comes as to what will they do when they show up to find E and C together. Stay tuned!

xxphantomphanessxx: I never liked him either, from the first moment I laid eyes on that ridiculous hair. And sorry, my muse leads where it will.

Pertie: Thank you. Thank you. I do try.

Captain Oblivious: Of COURSE Raoul is a complete idiot. Anyone who can still be singing "There is no Phantom of the Opera" while a stage hand is dangling from the rafters by a Punjab lasso has got to be an idiot. PS – What exactly is "glomping"? Just curious. And I hope you don't have neighbors below that wood floor you are tromping around on. (Because of your screen name, I always picture you in pirate boots, so that would be pretty loud.)

lafemme540: I shall endeavor to be worthy of the title you have bestowed upon me. "Dratted Jacques" does indeed turn up like a bad penny, just as Jema Moda noted in her review. I won't Punjab you for feeling sorry for the fop yet, though I AM rather disappointed in you, but if you still feel any hint of sympathy for him by the end I will be forced to ask Erik for instruction in the art. Glad you liked the twist and didn't see it coming.

xo-little-lotte-xo: LOL! – But what are you apologizing to me for? Pass the skillet, woman! Take that, Raoul! And that! And that! Like xo-little-lotte-xo said so eloquently, "SHE DOESN"T WANT YOU!" Get it through your fractured skull!

Jema Moda: I don't like any loose ends, so my own eye would have started to twitch if I hadn't shared the remainder of the letter. I am a wee bit obsessive-compulsive, so such a thing would have really been impossible for me anyway. And personally, I was so enchanted by your "poetic prose" that I am going to repeat it here: "de Chagny's all suck". Well said.

Sabrina Fair: I am glad you have recovered from your bout of feeling sorry for the fop. We can't have that among all these EC shippers. From this point on, you won't find much to like about him. He has passed "the point of no return" into villainy I am afraid.

Abby Kovac: I know. Double UGH. I hate Raoul too, passionately.

**Ch. 16 – New Beginnings**

Dawn was breaking softly over the eastern hills when Erik at last brought the great black horse to a halt in the alley behind the Teatro Comunale. He glanced down with a smile. Christine was fast asleep against his chest, after having sworn she was not a bit tired when he had asked just before leaving. He hated to disturb her, but thought it best she return to the opera house before her absence was noticed.

Erik leaned down and whispered gently against her ear, "I am sorry my love but I am afraid I must return you now to your home."

Christine stirred, smiling as she opened her eyes to find herself in his arms. Erik swung down from the horse and raised a hand to steady her as she climbed drowsily from the saddle. Realizing where she was, Christine sighed in disappointment. She had wished for the enchantment of the previous night never to end, but now it appeared it must. She frowned as she realized Erik intended to leave.

"Where will you go now?" She had a sudden gripping fear that he might disappear again.

Erik stepped forward, pulling her into the reassuring circle of his arms. He could see the uncertainty in her expression and leaned down quickly with a kiss to quiet her fears. When he drew back at last, he brushed a gloved hand gently along the line of her jaw, holding her eyes intently, as if seeking to memorize her face. "I own a villa just outside the city," he said softly. "Today is Sunday. Perhaps after you have had some rest, you might care to join me there?" He hoped he wasn't being too forward, but even after spending an entire night with her, he found he was already hungry for more.

Christine looked up into the face of the unique man she had grown to cherish. "I would like nothing more than to spend the day with you, Erik," she said quietly. And he knew that she meant it.

Erik bent to touch his lips briefly to the back of her hand, his intense gray eyes never leaving hers. Even at this tiny contact, a thrill stole through her entire body, and his burning eyes seemed to promise so much more to come. Christine felt her breathing quicken, at the thought.

"Buona notte, signora," he said softly. Smiling, he turned and mounted his horse in one easy, fluid motion.

_He is grace incarnate_, Christine thought to herself, watching him in awe. With a brief nod of farewell, Erik tightened his heels around the horse's flanks. The two dark figures melted into one, chasing the fleeting night as if racing the rays of the morning sun that had just begun to touch the city streets with gold.

Sighing blissfully, she reluctantly turned and retreated into the opera house.

Christine awoke several hours later in the comfort of her room. She sat up stretching idly and smiling like a fool. _So this is what it truly feels like to be in love,_ she thought with a grin. She threw off the covers and pirouetted around her room in sheer giddy joy. She felt lit up inside, as if a secret fire had been ignited in her spirit. The daylight poured through the window, its brightness mirroring her glorious mood.

Wondering suddenly just how long she had been asleep, Christine glanced at the clock. It was nearly noon. Startled, she flew to her wardrobe, hastily digging through her many dresses to find just the right one. She smiled when she pulled out her very favorite: a dress in creamy yellow, just the color of the muted Tuscan sunshine. She hurried to bathe and change, for she was uncertain what time he would arrive and she didn't want to waste a moment of their first real day in each other's company. After all, every other minute they had spent together over the years had been in the dark of night. How wonderful it would be to know Erik in the light of day at last.

With her mahogany ringlets carefully arranged in a low shimmering mass just above the nape of her neck, she slid into the fine taffeta of her dress and turned to survey herself critically in the mirror. The color was perfect, the sunshiny yellow reflecting the optimism radiating from her impatient heart and lending warmth to her fair skin. The bodice of the dress was well fitted and the neckline just low enough to show the gentle curve of her breasts. She touched her cheeks with a trace of rouge and applied the tiniest bit of kohl to her eyes. Just as she was reaching for her matching hat, there was a knock at the door. Christine hurriedly arranged the hat atop her head and reached for her wrap, drawing in a deep breath as she swept gracefully to the door and opened it with great anticipation.

Much to her dismay, it was not a white mask, but the smiling face of the opera manager that met her expectant eyes. Trying in vain to conceal her disappointment, Christine managed a weak smile. "Signor Buenechelli, I was not expecting you." _That was certainly true,_ she thought in annoyance.

A balding, plain man in his fifties, Buenechelli had always been slightly in awe of his mysterious French prima donna. His admiration had only grown with the tidings he was about to impart, "Signora de Renoir," he said with an air of imagined self importance, "I do apologize for the intrusion, but I have some wonderful news to share with you."

Christine looked past him impatiently to the hallway. Hopefully, he would not stay long. Still, as she turned her attention reluctantly back to his face, she gave him her best gilded actress smile. "I do hope this won't take long, Signor Buenechelli, you see I was just leaving..."

Buenechelli interrupted before she could make her excuses. "Signor Romando sent word today. Their lead soprano has had an unfortunate accident and will not be able to complete the season. They wish for you to assume the lead role in Verdi's latest work."

In his excitement, all of the words came out in one long rush so that Christine had to think for a moment before she could at last comprehend them.

At first, she said nothing, simply taking in the information, but all at once a brilliant smile spread across her face. "La Scala," she whispered in disbelief. It was the most famous and grand of all the opera houses in the world. Every opera singer alive dreamt of hearing his or her voice echoing back triumphantly from its opulent hallowed walls. Christine was no exception among them.

_Erik will be pleased_, she thought in delight. To be offered the position of leading soprano at the world renowned La Scala was the greatest achievement any singer could ever hope to attain. And ultimately, it was Erik whom had brought her here. It was he who had looked beyond the awkward shyness of that orphaned chorus girl so many years ago and had seen something greater. She owed her triumph to him.

Suddenly realizing that Signor Buenechelli was still awaiting her response to his announcement, she broke from her thoughts abruptly and met his eyes with a bright smile. "When would they like me to start?" she asked, exultant jubilation dancing through her veins.

Buenechelli beamed. "In two week's time. Of course that doesn't give me much of a chance to find a replacement, but I suppose we will manage."

Christine smiled at him, sincerely this time. "Thank you, Signor Buenechelli for your understanding, and for bringing me these wonderful tidings as well."

"You are most welcome, Signora. Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my office to make the necessary arrangements." Buenechelli made an awkward attempt at a bow and turned to leave.

"Of course, Signor. Grazie." Christine felt her heart nearly filled to overflowing with joy and gratitude. Within a two-day span she had somehow managed to be reunited with her lost love and achieve her lifelong goal.

Her cheeks flushed with excitement, she stepped back into her room and noticed at once a fine gray envelope tied with a black ribbon on the floor by the doorway. Grinning madly, she retrieved it, hastily reading its contents. He would be sending a carriage at two o'clock to fetch her.

She looked over at the clock in alarm. It was already five minutes past! Knowing that Erik abhorred lateness, she hastily reached for her handbag and fairly ran for the door. She couldn't wait to share with him her news. She was about to become the reigning diva in the world's premiere opera house. And Milan was such a remarkable city. Christine smiled. Yes, Erik was certain to be thrilled.

**A/N: **I would just like to reassure you all that Erik was in no way involved in the "unfortunate accident" that rendered the former diva of La Scala unable to perform and perpetuated Christine's leap into stardom. In this one instance, he is completely innocent and I can prove it. He was here with me the whole time. (Hee Hee Hee! Sorry Jema. You see, one thing led to another...)


	18. Anticipation

**A/N:** Okay girls, the gloves are off. I had someone (Cough – xxphanotmphanessxx – cough, cough) accuse me of writing a filler chapter just to torture you all, so now I will show you what REAL torture is like. Feast yourselves on the charged atmosphere of this one.

And as I told Jema Moda on MSN this morning, every time you see the name Christine, feel free to think of it as a prompt to "Insert your name here". I know I do when I am writing it. There is no shame in admitting it.

darklady5289: Naw, they aren't that smart.

Kagome1514: You will really be hyper after this one. You may want to strap yourself down.

Hearts Aflame: Thanks, but you are really gonna like this one, I guarantee it.

eternalcelestial: "Poo heads" – I had to laugh at that one. And Raoul will have no chance to intervene before the deed is done, I assure you. E and C aren't going to wait that long, and neither am I.

Twinkle 22: E and C will spend their first day in "Anticipation" as the chapter title accurately portrays. Does that help at all?

Orphelia-Rose: Another FOP FREE chapter. Yay! And yes, La Scala is a big deal for Christine, but can you see any possible complications ahead for our lovers?

erikfan: Yes, I am mercilessly. You will really hate me after this one. I may go into hiding for a time. Let's see, where is that number for the Witness Protection Program? I wonder if they have any experience protecting repentant author's from lusting phangirls. Hmmm...

xxphantomphanessxx: I would like you to know, missy, that I carefully constructed this chapter as tormenting punishment for you for your "filling in" accusation. Hey, that chapter had a couple important plot developments in it! So what if I was torturing you a bit by making you wait for the real fluff. That is my job. So now, I will have my revenge. You will be at my absolute mercy by the end of this one. Bwoohoohahaha!

(Ok, I am not really mad, you just inspired me to try harder with this one. So thanks!)

Pertie: You are welcome once again. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Here is the next installment you requested. Hope it meets your approval.

Captain Oblivious: Could one "glomp" Raoul? Maybe with a heavy object? Yes, there will be complications for our lovers as a result of Christine's new opportunity, that is indeed certain.

lafemme540: I will happily read and review your story as soon as I finish writing this one. My life is getting really busy, so I just can't manage another fic at this moment, but as soon as I wrap this one up, I am there, I promise. (Same for you, Kagome1514.)

xo-little-lotte-xo: I did. You have him. The clone I mean. Ha Ha Ha!

Jema Moda: You are darn right I am going to "hog the hottie". Do you blame me, seriously? All is fair in love and lust, my dear. So be careful, any time your back is turned, I am going to use my Svhengali trance (How on earth do you spell that? I loaned my Leroux book to my sister.) skills to lure him away. Remember, every time you turn your back there I will be, singing in my mesmerizing voice, "_Close your eyes and surrender to your DARKEST DREAMS..." _Oh, and Christine will definitely get to have lots of "enjoyment" with Erik before frilly fop man shows up.

Ayame Ito: You did not because I kept him chained to my arm at all times. SO THERE! Your Erik must be the clone. Welcome aboard, but keep your hands off my Erik. THE REAL ONE!

MadameOG: You won't have to dance much longer. There is tons of fluff in this chappie.

**Ch. 18 – Anticipation**

At first when Christine's carriage arrived at Porto Dell' Angelo, she thought the driver must have gotten the wrong address. The home she stared at from the carriage window could only be described as charming. It looked like the kind of home a young family might inhabit, a place that would be filled with life and laughter - certainly nothing like Erik's former residence. Just as she was about to ask the driver if it were possible he had made a mistake, her heart gave a bounding leap as she caught sight of Erik's familiar form on the other side of the lawn across the grass. Smiling madly, she touched a self conscious hand to her hair and stepped out of the carriage, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt as it drove away.

He was kneeling on the grass, his back facing her and did not immediately appear to have noticed her arrival. All at once he straightened and she could see just past him a lovely little girl in a white cotton dress who had been completely obscured previously by his tall, broad shouldered frame.

The child was beautiful, with great dark eyes and thick brown hair which fell in waves down her back. The little girl saw Christine at once and turned to whisper something to Erik. He glanced behind him and flashed Christine a warm smile, sending her heart pounding wildly.

Erik then leaned down to whisper something to the girl in return.

Hesitantly, the child stepped forth across the grass until she stood before Christine, smiling shyly. She handed Christine a small bouquet of flowers, and opened her mouth as if to speak. Looking back over her shoulder at Erik, he nodded in reassurance, and the girl took a deep breath.

"Bonjour mademoiselle. Ceux-ci sont pour vous. Erik me dis pour vous indiquer qu'il vous aime."

(OR "Hello, miss. These are for you. Erik says to tell you that he loves you.")

Christine's eyes filled with happy tears and she lifted them to meet Erik's from across the lawn. It was the first time he had told her that he loved her since that horrible night of the opera fire. She was overcome with emotion and he could read her words as she mouthed back, "I love you too."

The child, who had not noticed the exchange, looked alarmed at Christine's tears and began speaking hurriedly in a wave of Italian. Christine was forced to tear her eyes away from Erik's loving face in order to attempt to comfort the child, though she couldn't understand a word she was saying.

Erik swiftly moved across the lawn to intervene. When he reached the girl's side, he knelt down, putting a gentle hand on her arm and explained something quite easily in Italian. _Was there no end to this man's seemingly limitless talents?_ Christine thought, smiling to herself. At Erik's words, the girl nodded happily and flashed a pretty smile before bobbing a quick curtsy to Christine. She tore off across the grass and down the dusty road leading away from the villa. "Ciao, Erik! See you tomorrow!" she called cheerfully over her shoulder as she disappeared around the corner behind the trees.

Erik's eyes followed the child for a moment, and then he turned to Christine with an explanation. "Her name is Rosa and she lives in the vineyard down the road. I have been teaching her French and English, but she still relies heavily on her native Italian. I am never quite certain now when she opens her mouth which will come out," he said with a rueful smile.

Christine laughed. His eyes traveled over her face hungrily. Though it had been only a matter of hours since he had last seen her, he had missed her sorely. She looked wonderful. The sunny yellow of her dress complimented her skin and although he usually adored her hair down and full, the loose pile of curls at the back of her head was an elegant change, showing off the delicious curve of her neck to its best advantage. He longed to taste every inch of its swanlike grace, every inch of her flesh for that matter, but he held himself in check. _This is likely to be a difficult day,_ he thought to himself with an inward sigh.

His composure held tightly in an iron grip, Erik put his hands on Christine's arms and leaned in, settling for a chaste kiss to her cheek. Even that benign touch sent fire throughout his body, as he felt the softness of her skin beneath his lips and took in the fresh scent of her hair – a delectable combination of lavender and soap, as always.

Shaking himself mentally, he dropped his hands to his sides and took a step backwards, keeping a safe distance between Christine and himself. If he were going to maintain the demeanor of a gentleman as he imagined she would expect, he had best refrain from touching her unless absolutely necessary. Otherwise, he wasn't going to last the day without ravishing her mercilessly, though he had gotten the distinct impression from her own reaction to him that she wouldn't object. More than anything, however, he wanted their first time to be so much more than that; thus, he clung stubbornly to his resolve, no matter how much his body might ache in protest.

Christine was puzzled by Erik's almost brotherly kiss hello and the quick withdrawal of his arms, but attributed it to his gentlemanly nature and settled for taking his large hand in her own as he led her on a tour of the grounds. She marveled at the endless beds of well tended flowers and the view from his portico took her breath away. When she stepped into the villa, however, tears filled her eyes once again.

Erik was immediately concerned and puzzled by her reaction. He had thought that Porto Dell' Angelo would be exactly the kind of place Christine would adore. He had attempted to create a home that was warm, inviting, and full of light, just as she was herself. Up until this moment, he had thought he had succeeded. But her continued silence caused him to reexamine his efforts.

Gazing around the room, he wondered what could possibly have upset her so. Sunlight flooded through the many windows, laying squares of oranges and golds in a patchwork pattern across the warm wood floors. Above them, the high ceilings lent openness to the room, adorned with their visible cypress rafters. Bright hues met his eyes from every corner, a collection of elegant furniture and luxurious foreign fabrics from his travels. His exquisite deep red Persian rug, spread diagonally between the two divans in front of the fireplace was the only reminder of his Paris home. Vases of colorful and fragrant fresh flowers crowded the mantle and every table around the room.

He had tried so hard to make her feel welcome here, but now Erik was berating himself inwardly for assuming her taste would match his own. Perhaps he simply didn't understand how normal people lived. Sighing, he placed his hands alongside her cheeks, and with his thumbs, erased the tears that were tracing a path down her face. "What is it, my love? Does it not please you?" he asked gently.

Christine's face looked startled suddenly. "Oh no, Erik. It...It's wonderful...It is just that...," her eyes filled with love and compassion, sought his own, "I always wished for a place like this for you," she whispered. "You have known no real home throughout the first years of your life. It is right that you should have one as warm and welcoming as this for the remainder of it."

She smiled shyly up at him, intently aware of the warmth of his hands on the skin of her face and his long, lean muscular body inches from her own.

_What is wrong with me?_ she thought blushing hotly beneath his eyes. Here they were having a tender moment and all she could think about was how much she wished for the hands now caressing her face to give the same attention to the rest of her body as well.

At the thought, her eyes opened wide and she abruptly withdrew from his burning fingers, knowing if she stayed beneath them for another minute, she would surely do something highly inappropriate. Backing away, she resolutely kept herself a safe distance apart from him and clasped her own hands tightly behind her back, as if to prevent them from misbehaving against her will. _God in heaven,_ she thought, _I have never had such lustful thoughts before. What is this raging fire within me? And how does this dark, enigmatic man somehow manage to ignite such passion in my mind and soul by his mere presence?_

Christine hastily changed the subject. "The name, Porto Dell' Angelo – what does it mean?"

Erik watched her with a bemused expression upon his face. "Angel's Haven," he replied absently.

He had the distinct impression by her blush and overly pious posture now that she was fighting the same desirous longings under his touch that he himself had been fighting for nearly 20 years whenever he was in her presence.

Amused, he elected to test his theory.

"Oh Erik, that's perfect!" Christine gushed, referring once again to the villa's name and turning to look around her in delight. He stepped intentionally behind her, so that when she unknowingly turned back around to face him, the entire length of her body was forced to come into direct contact with his own.

Christine's face immediately began to color, and she seemed to be having an internal argument with herself as to whether she should choose to simply enjoy the feeling of him pressed against her or remove herself demurely as propriety would no doubt dictate. Her inner battle lasted nearly a full minute before he felt her body pressing back.

With a wicked grin, Erik withdrew the contact. _On second thought, this afternoon is going to be a most enjoyable prelude to the evening's events,_ he thought, his grin widening by the second.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle," he said with a bow that seemed, at least in appearance apologetic. "I beg your forgiveness for being so clumsy. Please, let us continue on with the tour of my home."

Christine stood dumbly for a moment after he turned to leave, uncertain exactly what had just happened. Her blood was heated nearly to boiling and she looked down, half expecting to find a scorched imprint of his body on her own. Her movements felt delayed and clumsy – her limbs heavy with a sweet tingling sensation as she followed him mutely through the rest of the house.

Erik was enjoying immensely her reaction to both his home and his tireless efforts at a day of seduction. At every opportunity, he touched her lightly - a fleeting caress, a casual brush against her at every convenient moment; he could nearly feel the fire building inside her body as well as his own. He relished this chance to luxuriate in the experience of being wanted both body and soul. Though he had had some limited measure of experience in physical intimacy, the idea of Christine, the one woman he longed for, desiring him was delicious.

Finally they came to his bedroom. He had intentionally saved it for last. "Go in and feel free to look around, the view from the window is glorious. I will rejoin you momentarily." He excused himself and left her alone to her exploration. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing that every moment in that room she would be imagining herself there tangled with him in his bed.

When Christine first entered Erik's bedroom, her eyes locked immediately on the lush four-poster mahogany bed, draped in an exotic looking burgundy silk duvet. How would it feel to lay beside him, she wondered, with nothing in between, their limbs twisted in mutual adoration and pleasure? There was something so powerful about Erik -something so raw and unbridled beneath his gentlemanly exterior. He was danger and sensuality, passion and sensitivity – all of those enticing elements embodied. And the outward frame that they inhabited was utterly impressive in and of itself.

Peeking quickly behind her to be certain he hadn't yet returned, she stepped hesitantly over to run a wistful hand along the burgundy silk of the duvet. As she stood lost in the moment, she imagined that same hand trailing over the ridges of Erik's well muscled chest and flat abdomen, and even beyond.

Christine drew in a deep shuddering breath and the utterly masculine and inviting scent of him filled every fiber of her being until she felt drunk with it. Erik's distinctive aura clung to every item in the room. She longed to merge with him at last, as if by doing so she could be absorbed into his very soul and enter his unique and colorful world that called to her so enticingly.

Her senses were so full of him she felt dizzy and he wasn't even in the room. Christine sighed. She was caught in a beautiful, agonizing dilemma. What would he think of her if she gave herself to him so easily? Would he be disappointed in her? The thought troubled her mind, for he had always seen her as an innocent, and she hated to rob him of that illusion. But it was certain that Erik's magnetism would not be denied for much longer: her body could simply not resist for long the alluring call of his. Any resolve she had tenuously clung to was long gone, and she had no doubt that if he were to ask it of her, she would fling propriety to the winds and hurl herself headlong into his arms quite willingly. Christine sank weakly down on the edge of the bed, one rebellious hand still stroking the bed cover without her notice.

"Does it meet with your approval, milady?" a slightly mocking voice called silkily from the doorway.

Instantly, Christine yanked her hand back as if she had been burned. Erik was leaning against the frame of the door, grinning roguishly, a bottle of wine and two glasses in one hand.

_How long has he been standing there, _Christine wondered desperately. She jumped up as if something had bitten her, absolutely mortified that he might have seen her longingly caressing his bed. She opened her mouth to respond to his inquiry, then closed it again, unsure of what she could say that would not betray her lustful thoughts.

"The view, Christine," he prompted, one eyebrow raised in amusement at her temporarily diminished capacity for speech, "Did the _view_ meet with your approval?"

Blushing furiously, she quickly stepped over to admire it through the window, though in truth she hadn't given it a moment's thought since he had mentioned it upon leaving.

"Yes, it is quite magnificent, isn't it?" She kept her back carefully turned from him as she feigned interest in the scenery outside. In reality, however, all her thoughts and every nerve ending were centered on the enticing figure behind her.

"Indeed it is," he said softly, and she had the distinct impression by his suggestive tone that he was not at the moment talking about the view.

When she at last found the courage to turn around, the sight that met her eyes nearly caused her to fall backward through the open window. Erik was stretched out lazily on the bed, holding the wine glasses and the bottle in one hand and patting the bed beside him with the other. "Join me," he said softly.

**A/N: Any takers? Hee Hee Hee (Cackles evilly.)**


	19. Fighting the Tide

**A/N:** Couple of quick notes. First of all, I apologize for how long it has taken me to post. I had company. Sorry.

Secondly, **I would suggest going back and reading chapter 18 again before beginning this one, as chapters 18-20 sort of fit together and I want you all to get the full effect of the sexual tension I have been building.**

Also, I wanted to humbly apologize to xxphantomphanessxx for our misunderstanding in the last chapter. I was in no way angry at you for your comment. Reviews are for sharing your opinion and I was seriously just goofing off. For future reference, I am very seldom actually serious in my replies.

Finally, one final note to pass along. In my fic, both Erik and Christine have had previous sexual encounters. You will recall that C and R were married for 6 years and he commented in previous chapters about their disappointing sex life. And in my mind, after Christine married and Erik emerged topside, he attempted to live a normal life in all respects and that included dating. If you remember, Henry the butler mentioned seeing several beautiful women draped on his master's arm over the years. However, in my view, Erik is far too sensitive to enjoy sex without love, so in the end, he gave up the effort entirely and came to live in the emotionless state that we found him in at the beginning of the story.

Lots of new reviewers this chapter. Must be all the fluff. Welcome to the fic!

**WARNING: The next three chapters are what earned this story the M rating, so be forewarned. (Though I doubt most of you will complain.)**

Masqueraders: Thanks so much for your kind words (and the Erik plushie). I am happy to be one of your favs. Get ready for the good stuff. Welcome!

Mz. Kelsi: Please don't cry. I usually update every day, but it was a busy weekend. Here are two chapters to ease your suffering. Welcome to the fic!

darklady5289: Thanks! I am pleased that you are enjoying it so much. And every side of Erik is sexy. He can't help it.

Kagome1514: Thanks for the French lesson. Consider it fixed. And you still have a tiny bit of drool on your chin.

Hearts Aflame: Thought you would. Bet you like these two too.

eternalcelestial: And now your "anticipation" will at last be sated. Enjoy the fluff!

Twinkle 22: Sorry it took so long to update, but this kind of stuff can't be rushed. Thanks for the compliments. Hope you enjoy these next two.

Orphelia-Rose: If that last one got to you, you had better sit down for the next two. You are officially the fourth person to call me evil after that last chapter. Hope this installment "works" for you. Ha Ha

erikfan: sorry. i am truly evil.

xxphantomphanessxx: No, sweetie, you didn't. I was seriously just goofing off and was in now way offended. Forgive me, please? I tried to write back immediately to apologize, but your email wasn't listed on your profile, so I posted an apology on your website. (Very cool, by the way.) So please, as I said in my post, don't stop reading and reviewing just because I was an idiot. And from now on, just know I am always teasing and never serious, okay? We would miss you if you left us.

Wilting Angel: More sexy Erik – just what we all want to hear, right? Well, he is alive and well and taking center stage for the next two chapters. Hang onto your hats ladies!

sexxy-spider-theatre-freak: Wicked, I haven't been called that before. Thank you! I love my evil cliffies. Welcome aboard!

draegon-fire: I am evil, aren't I? I will make it up to you in these two chappies, I promise! And no, neither Erik nor Raoul were involved in the opera diva accident at La Scala. It was truly just an accident.

X-Ciel: Sexual tension is exactly what I was trying to create in the mood of the last chapter, so I am honored that you found me successful. For the full effect of these next two, go back and read 18 again first. Welcome aboard! Glad to have you.

Nugrey: Thank you. Glad to have you with us!

Captain Oblivious: Fifth person to call me evil after reading 18. And yes, I think you will see that Erik DEFINITELY knows what he is doing. Very sexy. See my A/N on the subject above.

lafemme540: Yes, sexy Erik is indeed fun.

ackari smith: Sorry, but the spot beside Erik on the bed is already occupied by your dear author. I was just taunting you with my last comment. He is really all mine.

xo-little-lotte-xo: sorry. you were not the only one to call me evil after that one.

nameless1010: You are the third person to call me evil! Yeah, Christine is toast, in the previous words of JemaModa, as are all we phangirls when Erik is poised in such an enticing position. Glad you are enjoying the fic. Welcome!

Jema Moda: First of all, we have already discussed your vicious lies about finding MY Erik on your bed with wine glasses when you got home. That is just wrong. Secondly, you have nailed me dead to rights on my obsession with Erik's hands. I have a fettish. I don't deny it. Thirdly, no, writing a chapter full of sexual tension is kind of fun. I don't remember giving birth being fun at all. Let me know if you think I got all Erik's "moves" down right.

Allistair: Six "evils" a "wicked" and now a "meanie". Tells me I must have written a good cliffie. Welcome to the fic. I will leave you hanging no more. Enjoy!

Ayame Ito: Sixth person to call me evil for this one. But I don't regret it! Hee Hee Hee

MadameOG: I hear ya sister. And we are arriving there fast.

**Ch. 19 - Fighting the Tides**

Christine's hand flew to her waist as if to steady herself. Her cheeks were flaming now. "I...I prefer to stand," she managed weakly, accepting the offered glass. She sipped slowly and felt the delicious warmth spread through her body, helping to ease her screaming nerves. As if drawn by a magnetic force, her eyes traveled eagerly over his long, lean frame sprawled elegantly before her.

Erik was so agonizingly beautiful, lounging on the bed in his usual easy grace. Lying there, he was a dark god: utterly masculine in his powerful, confident sensuality. What chance did she have to resist him? Her body was already tingling in anticipation, and she was finding it difficult to breathe normally.

Erik raised an eyebrow at her refusal to join him, but Christine knew from his mocking expression that he had guessed the reason. His voice was low and suggestive, his eyes making clear that he was highly aware of his effect on her. "As you wish, my dear, but I give you my word as a gentleman that your virtue is safe with me." _Until you request otherwise, _he thought wickedly. Then there would be nothing on earth that would stop him from claiming her at last.

Erik watched her as she sipped her wine, his eyes never leaving her mouth. He imagined the taste of the amber liquid on her lips and the feel of those same lips pressed warm and damp to his own flesh. The soft curve of her breasts just above the modest neckline of her dress heaved noticeably in her obvious arousal, and the alluring rhythm held him mesmerized. He imagined them free from the restraints of her clothing and his mouth reverently adoring each one in turn. The lower half of his body tightened painfully at the thought. Though he had meant for his carefully devised seduction to continue indefinitely throughout the remainder of the day, his body was becoming increasingly impatient and his thoughts increasingly bold.

Christine shivered at the blatant display of hunger in his eyes. Why could she not simply give in to what both their bodies were now begging for? She knew the answer. Even now, her insecurities continued to plague her. Erik had been waiting for this day for so long. What if she disappointed him? After all, with her modest experience, she could hardly expect to live up to what he had undoubtedly imagined in his mind. And even worse she still worried that once he had her in body, his interest in the rest of her would gradually begin to wane. After giving herself to him, she felt she would surely die if he chose to leave her again.

Christine stepped back to the window, putting as much distance between herself and Erik as possible within the confines of the room. The space beside him on the bed was calling to her, but she knew without a doubt that if she were to take it, there would be nothing in the world to save her from herself.

She stared out the window thinking back to all their years in the Paris opera house and how many events had been leading up to this day. She and he were destined to become one - mind, soul, and body. Christine had no doubt of that. But the question that she had sung to him eight long years ago on stage now echoed in her mind once again: _How long should we two wait...?_

At the thought of the Paris opera house, she suddenly remembered the news which she had meant to tell him immediately upon her arrival, but had forgotten in the wake of his seduction. A smile lit her face. "Erik, I nearly forgot. I have the most wonderful news! I have been asked to..."

She never finished her sentence. As she moved to turn around, her efforts met once again with the solid wall of Erik's chest.

He had stepped behind her while she had been lost in her thoughts, and his hands gripped her arms with velvet force, denying her the ability to turn around. Instead, she gasped as his lips found the side of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily as Erik moved his mouth in a languid twisting pattern along the ivory column of her throat. Every touch of it seared her skin, burning a path of scorched flesh that set every nerve ending aflame. When his tongue slipped into the hollow of her collarbone, she abandoned all attempt at coherent thought, content to luxuriate instead in the realm of sensation. Speech was denied her and all thoughts of La Scala and her imminent move fled quite willingly from her mind.

Erik's hands traveled down her arms and came to slide against her rib cage. Increasing the pressure slightly, he moved them down her hips and along the outer edge of her thighs. Christine gasped again and felt her legs would give way. 

Sensing her unsteadiness, Erik reached down and scooped her into his arms, intending to carry her to the bed and ravish her as he had been aching to do all day. But just before he reached it, he paused. He had told himself that he would not allow this to happen before everything was made right between them and Christine herself asked him to make love to her. He would die if they came together after all this time and she came to regret it. Sighing, he gently laid her on the bed.

Christine's heart was hammering in her chest as her body met the burgundy silk of the bed that she had been admiring earlier. Today, after so many years of waiting and longing, he would be hers at last. Her skin flushed with desire. She had surrendered entirely of her own free will, and now lay awaiting the inevitable in eager anticipation.

But much to her disappointment, instead of lying down next to her and taking her at last, Erik sat down heavily beside her. He ran a hand through his hair and seemed suddenly wearied by the constant struggle to keep control over his body.

Sensing her confusion, he turned to her and reached out with the back of his hand to trace the line of her jaw. His eyes were filled with regret. "I am sorry, my love. I promised myself that I would not push you for this until you were ready. What is it that they say? _The mind is willing, but the flesh is weak_?" he smiled ruefully, continuing to stroke her jaw line with his thumb. "That is certainly true in my case, but I swear to you Christine, that I will not make love to you until you ask it of me. That is my vow."

She looked crestfallen, and Erik couldn't help but grin at her obvious disappointment. "But I am certain you will test the limits of my resolve mercilessly, my dear," he whispered, in a voice that sent fresh shivers down her spine.

"I will leave you here to rest for a few moments while I make us some supper. I shall call you when it is ready." Erik leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to her forehead, then turned and left the room. After she was quite certain he was really gone, Christine pulled a burgundy silk pillow over her mouth and let out a muffled scream from beneath it. Her body was begging her desperately to run after him and ask the question he required, but the weight of her desire had once again robbed her temporarily of her power of speech. Now, she lay with her body on fire and a deep irritable feeling of discontent. Was Erik mocking her in his refusal to sate her desire, or was he tiring of her already?

She lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling, and eventually her eyes did indeed fall closed. After all, she had hardly slept the night before due to their midnight adventure. At last, she heard Erik's voice calling up the stairs. "Christine, our meal is ready."

Hastily, she stood and attempted to make herself presentable. Her skirt was wrinkled, and she found a good deal of her hair pins had come undone. She found a mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door and quickly pinned it all back up again. When at last she was satisfied, she stepped lightly down the stairs, feeling herself again.

The smells that met her appreciative nose from the vicinity of the kitchen were heavenly. As she entered, she saw a small table just large enough for two on which a wonderful Italian meal had been prepared. Her eyes roamed over the delicious looking bread, pasta, and salad, as Erik appeared from around the corner with a fresh flask of wine. Setting it carefully on the table, he held out a chair for her. She gratefully accepted it and took her place at the table. Christine suddenly realized she hadn't eaten since the night before.

"Erik, this looks wonderful."

He smiled briefly and sat down in the chair across from her.

"You made all this yourself didn't you?" she asked, clearly impressed.

Erik shrugged. "When one has lived alone as long as I have, he has no choice but to learn a few useful domestic skills. Cooking happens to be something I have come to enjoy, so I take the time to do it well." He lifted the salad bowl and held it out to her.

Christine took it and smiled at his usual modesty, taking a moment to study the beloved face that had once struck fear in all the hearts of Paris. He truly was a man beneath all of his mystery and enigma. And that man was utterly alluring to her. She felt drawn to him by the forces of nature themselves, like the ocean tides to the will of the moon. Her face lit with newfound appreciation.

"You are a very talented, intriguing man, Erik. I wonder if you will ever truly understand how unique and amazing you are," she said softly.

He looked up as he poured them both a glass of wine. For a moment, it seemed he would protest her flattery, but in the end he merely searched her eyes and realizing her sincerity, accepted her compliment with a gracious nod. "Thank you, Christine."

They talked easily over their meal, the years between them slipping away. Christine shared anecdotes of her life in the Teatro Comunale, and Erik shared stories from his travels, including a riotous account of his encounter with Jacques in Switzerland.

Christine was laughing so hard, she felt tears in her eyes. "Oh Erik, you didn't? Leave him hanging there like that?" But she found her sympathy for the man was limited since he had both attempted to rob Erik of several thousand francs and had been responsible for a large portion of the delay in their reunion.

After a time, the conversation quieted again and Erik grew serious once more. He reached across the table to take her hand gently in his own.

"Tell me what your life has been like these past years, Christine. How did that frightened little girl from the Paris opera house come to be a magnificent diva living here in Florence?" he asked quietly. His desire to know all of her life in his absence was sincere, and it was the only thing momentarily outweighing his hunger for her body.

Christine looked up at him uncertainly, her eyes searching his face. "Do you really want to know all of my tawdry past?" she whispered.

Erik chuckled softly. "My dear, I find it highly unlikely it could ever rival my own."

With a deep breath, Christine began her story of the past eight years. She omitted nothing, feeling that it was better to lay all of her skeletons to the light than to risk any further misunderstandings between them. Once or twice when she was forced to make reference to Raoul, she would glance at Erik out of the corner of her eye, attempting to gauge his reaction. At times, she thought she saw a faint flicker of anger register on his face, but he did not interrupt. Instead, he merely listened, nodding occasionally but choosing not to offer comment.

After nearly an hour, their glasses were empty and she had arrived in her tale to the present at last. Erik remained silent, considering thoughtfully all that he had heard. Throughout her story, there was one common thread that had linked every event in the chain of Christine's life over their years apart. Aside from that one fateful night beneath the Opera Populaire, she had remained entirely devoted to him in her heart, never wavering no matter how many people and events had attempted to intervene. He was touched beyond words by this knowledge.

Erik's eyes held deep gratitude and wonder as he turned them at last to lock with hers. His hand cupped her cheek and he smiled gently. "Thank you, Christine, for making me understand all that has been in your heart these many years. You can not know how much your words have meant to me."

He stood and stepped over to her, pulling her up into his arms and searching her face intently for a moment. He brushed a thumb over her lips, and then moved to claim them in a tender kiss. The carefully concealed emotion that he had held inside for so long was revealed at last and rushed over her in a mighty wave, leaving her breathless as his kiss deepened and changed into something utterly new and different. It blossomed into a powerful gesture of acceptance and trust, and most importantly of all, forgiveness.

In the intensity of the moment, Christine leaned into his body, pressing herself against him, as if to be as close to him physically as she felt now in her heart. But once more, it was Erik who broke the contact.

"I am sorry my love, but if I am adhere to my previous resolution, I am afraid it would be unwise for us to remain in this position." He stepped back from her completely and Christine felt the all-too-familiar ache at nature's will being denied once more.

She sighed, wondering inwardly how long the two of them could keep up this awkward dance. After all, no matter how the waves might rage against it, in the end, the tide could not help but obey the pull of the Moon.


	20. Consumed

**A/N:** Okay, ladies. I have tormented you long enough. Let's earn that "M" rating, shall we. Enjoy!

**Ch. 20 - Consumed**

Together they worked to straighten up the kitchen, making short work of the dishes. Christine would feel a spark pass between them as their hands brushed against one another in the soapy water. She smiled, secretly wondering what it would be like to live here with him and do this same thing every night before bed, perhaps with one or two children playing and laughing in the background.

Her smile faded suddenly at the thought of the news she had initially been so eager to share with him. All at once she felt uncertain. What if was _not_ pleased by it? After all, Erik had built himself a perfect home here, and she assumed that his work was here as well. Unlike her, he had traveled extensively throughout his life and now seemed perfectly willing to settle in one place for the remainder. Could she live with herself if she uprooted him from the first real home he had ever known?

Christine remained quiet for the next several moments, and Erik glanced over at her in concern. He wondered why she suddenly seemed so serious after all the tenderness and laughter of the past few hours. Drying his hands on a dishtowel, he pulled her into his arms for a quick kiss, still reveling in the sensation of being able to embrace her so freely.

Christine pulled back, breathless and Erik chuckled softly. "Come, my dear, enough drudgery for one evening. I have been remiss in my duty to show you an evening of romance. A man can hardly expect to win a fair lady's heart by forcing her to scrub his kitchen on their first real evening together. The sun is just setting. Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Christine laughed, taking his extended hand. "Lead on, good sir."

Arm and arm the two made their way across the extensive grounds and down the road. All along the right side of the path, the curve of the hill sloped downward to reveal Florence which was robed this time in the rich golden glory of the setting sun. Finding a soft patch of grass, they settled themselves down upon it watching as the gentle cloak of night descended and the stars revealed themselves in the heavens above.

Leaning her head against Erik's shoulder, Christine felt she was existing in a dream. She had never before felt so content with the world, so utterly at peace and so incredibly close to another human being. They talked animatedly in the darkness about music, art, literature and life in general, neither one caring to admit that the time had long since passed when Christine should be taking her leave. They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither noticed the clouds rolling forth under the cover of darkness, blotting out the delicate silver stars one by one.

Suddenly lightning sliced angrily through the sky, followed immediately by a resounding crack of thunder and a torrential downpour. Christine shrieked and clung to Erik's arm, but Erik was laughing as they ran back in the direction of the villa. They were soaked to the skin in seconds and the lightning and thunder were frightening in their intensity and proximity. Christine realized nervously that they had traveled much further from the house than she had originally thought.

Erik turned to her and called loudly into the howling wind, "I don't think we will be able to safely make it back to the house. Just follow me. There is a place just over there behind those trees..."

His voice was lost in the din of the storm, but Christine got the essence of the message and clung tightly to his hand as he dragged her off in the opposite direction. They made their way hurriedly through the trees. Christine breathed a sigh of relief as a solid looking structure came into view. Erik flung open the heavy door and pulled her inside, quickly closing and bolting it behind him against the increasing strength of the wind.

"What is this place?" Christine asked, glancing around her curiously as she began to wring the rain from her hopelessly drenched skirts. Erik stepped over to the fireplace and stooped down to start a fire in the hearth. "This is the guest house. I have never used it, though I thankfully did have the roof repaired and a thorough cleaning done upon my arrival."

He reached for a box of matches upon the mantle and very shortly a cozy orange glow began to spread across the floor, illuminating the room a bit. Christine could just make out the covered forms of what must have been furniture and a wooden floor adorned with a thick rug. She smiled in delight. She would surely have to explore this cozy cottage in the light of day when next she had a chance.

Shivering, Christine realized suddenly that she was freezing and had nothing else to wear. She sighed as she listened to the storm battering their temporary shelter, seeming only to increase in its fury. It was nearly certain that she would be spending the night in her sopping dress.

Erik noticed her shivering and looked immediately concerned. "I apologize, my dear, but I have no other clothing to offer you. However, I do think I could find some dry blankets that you could wrap yourself in while we hung your clothing by the fire to dry."

His voice was matter-of-fact, but Christine felt herself color at the thought. "No, really, I am quite fine, I couldn't possibly..." Her voice trailed off in embarrassment, but her teeth chattered involuntarily. Erik noticed.

"Nonsense, Christine. I will not allow you to risk pneumonia out of some misplaced sense of propriety. Come now. There is a dressing screen in one of the bedrooms upstairs and several quilts at the foot of the bed. I shall remain downstairs, and attempt to devise some sort of comfortable sleeping arrangement for us, as I doubt the storm will subside until morning."

Christine blushed furiously, opening her mouth to protest. "I...I...don't understand. Surely one of the bedrooms upstairs would be suitable."

Erik gave her an impatient look. "Christine, it is only May and the nights are still very cold. I do not have enough wood for more than one fire to last through the night. I am sorry that you find the arrangement so contrary to your taste, but it will have to do. Rest assured I will not ravish you in your sleep."

Christine closed her mouth feeling thoroughly chastised. She hadn't meant to offend him or make him think somehow that she was adverse to the idea of lying next to him with nothing in between, quite the contrary in fact.

Even now, as he stood staring at her in obvious annoyance, Christine could not help but notice his appeal. He had removed his jacket and stood only in his dark trousers and a white gauzy shirt that was thoroughly damp and clung tightly to the ridges of his taut muscles beneath. His tanned skin glowed in the flickering firelight, and his tall, lean form fairly radiated masculinity. And that was the very reason why she didn't trust herself to simply lie chastely in contentment mere inches from his enticing form for one entire night.

She lowered her eyes in shame. "I apologize for my foolishness. You are right, Erik. I will do as you suggest." As she lifted her bedraggled skirts to climb the stairs, Erik touched her arm lightly. His momentary impatience had faded and he was instantly ashamed of his harsh words.

"I am sorry, Christine. It is I who should be asking your forgiveness. Any woman would be uncomfortable with this arrangement, but I am afraid it is the best I can do under the circumstances." He touched her face gently and she smiled. All was forgiven between them in an instant.

Christine climbed the stairs, her smile widening now as she realized that whatever the circumstances, tonight for the very first time, she would spend the night lying next to the man she loved. No matter how inappropriate the situation might seem to the outside observer, she decided she cared not for the rules of society this night, for the man she loved was not bound by them and here in their own little world she found she had no use for them either.

After several moments, she returned gracefully down the stairs, her hair hanging freely down her back and her slight frame wrapped only in a large quilt. She noticed at once with a smile that Erik had arranged a cozy nest of blankets near the fire, complete with a feather pillow. However, her smile faded a bit when she noticed a single thin blanket spread nearly ten feet away which she assumed was meant for Erik's bed.

As she reached the foot of the stairs, she was disappointed to find that Erik was nowhere to be seen. She stood in front of the fire, staring into its warmth. Outside, the wind buffeted the house and the thunder and lightning raged, but here inside she felt a safety and freedom she had never known. It was as if the stars had aligned to provide her and Erik at last with this one night away from the world and its prying eyes.

Her earlier disdain for the rigid constraints of social propriety returned and she vowed that she would no longer allow such imaginary barriers to keep her and Erik from sharing the time that they had at last been granted.

She heard a faint sound behind her and drew in a deep breath. She would not waste this gift they had been given. With no further hesitation, she lowered the blanket, sliding it below her shoulders and holding it tightly around her clasped at the center of her chest. She hoped with all her heart he would understand and accept her invitation.

Christine stood unwavering, her breathing rapid and her chest heaving slightly in anticipation. It felt like an eternity as she awaited his touch.

But in reality, she did not have to wait long. Her eyelids fluttered closed instantly as she felt Erik's hands ghost against the fire-lit skin of her shoulders. He slid them feather-light upwards along the curve of her neck, and then down its length to rest on her arms, just above the topmost edge of the blanket.

She felt him lift the heavy damp mass of her curls from her back and lay it gently over her right shoulder, bringing his mouth close against her left ear so that the warmth of his breath caressed it, sending an immediate thrill down her spine. His hands slid lower and grasped the edges of the blanket on either side of her body, pausing there for what felt like forever.

Erik whispered low as his lips nipped at her ear, "Tell me you want me, Christine. Tell me what you would like me to do to you." His hands tightened on the edges of the blanket. She knew at any moment, he had only to tug and she would be completely revealed before him.

Christine's pulse was racing madly. Though she had been married for nearly seven years in the past, the sexuality that Erik wielded so easily was hopelessly foreign to her. She had never in her life experienced the powerful primal instincts that engulfed her body at this moment. And with every taste of all that he revealed to her, she found herself only longing for more; her aching need craving to be sated at last. No, there could be no denying it. In Erik, she felt the Adam to her Eve; the very essence of her womanhood compelling her to be made complete in his masculinity. Theirs was an ancient, natural attraction, pulling their bodies toward one another with such force she felt her knees would buckle at the weight of it. Tonight, she would deny that force no longer.

Her voice was husky with emotion when she spoke at last. "I want you, Erik. I want to know you, _all_ of you. And I want you to know me with nothing between us. Tonight, I want at last to have the hands I have dreamt of so often on my skin and to finally feel you within me." She looked over her shoulder into his burning eyes. "Please, Erik, let us be one at last," she whispered.

At her words, she released her hold on the blanket that separated them. He did not immediately allow it to drop to the floor, but instead slid it down the length of her torso, holding it at her hips. His mouth became fervent against the skin of her back, reverently adoring every inch of her flesh with patient worship. At last, with one hand he tossed the blanket away so that she was entirely bare before him in the firelight.

She heard his intake of breath at the sight of her perfect feminine form in the dying light of the fire. Every curve and hollow of her was cast in contrasts of shadow and light so that she looked like an artist's sculpture. And yet, as he trailed his hand down the center of her back, she was wonderfully warm and alive, yielding and straining toward his touch.

He pressed his palms against the front of her hips and pulled her roughly up against him from behind. A tiny moan of pleasure escaped her lips as she felt the solid length of him against her back and realized his shirt had been discarded and her skin now met the bare, muscled wall of his chest. He threaded his fingers in the glorious thickness of her auburn curls and tugged gently on its silky length, forcing her head back. Immediately, his mouth returned to move against the skin of her neck, one hand grasping her throat with just a hint of danger that only served to heighten her arousal.

Christine felt as if every muscle in her body was melting. Just as she became certain her legs would surely give way, he lifted her effortlessly and laid her down on the pile of blankets on the floor.

As he knelt above her, for the first time she saw his face and the raw, unbridled need combined with the tenderness of his eyes nearly undid her. His gaze traveled the length of her body as if he were drinking in her breathtaking feminine form. When his eyes reached her face he seemed to hesitate, but Christine reached up, her hand gently cupping his strong jaw, her eyes locking with his. Her hand gently removed his mask and laid it aside. "I don't want this between us ever again," she said softly.

His gaze softened and Christine reached her hand back up to touch his ravaged cheek. "Erik, I want you. Please, take me. I am yours."

At her words, he seemed to move at last beyond all doubt. His actions now were controlled and with purpose, moving toward their inevitable conclusion. He would not be denied this time. Even if he had wanted to stop, he doubted he could have. A frenzied need took over his body at the sight of her naked loveliness. And he began at last to take their bodies to the final height of pleasure that awaited them.

Kneeling between her knees as she reclined on the nest of blankets, he ran his palm from the base of her throat to her navel, purposefully increasing the pressure of his hand along the way. Christine's breathing grew ragged as his hand stopped just inches above her waist. Erik leaned forward so the tips of her breasts just grazed the dark hair of his chest and slanted his mouth against hers with such force she felt her teeth grind against his. His tongue invaded her mouth, and one hand tangled in her hair, while the other boldly explored every curve of her body.

When his free hand cupped her breast, Christine gasped. With his eyes never breaking contact from hers, he slowly lowered his mouth to the rounded peak, suckling gently as he drew the tender flesh between his teeth. Christine's eyes opened wide as his tongue circled first one nipple and then the other, but felt only disappointment when he abandoned them all too quickly.

She closed her eyes, anticipating his mouth to return to her own, but instead, she felt his palms at her hips and then a sensation that could only be described as the most intense, deliciously pleasurable feeling she had ever experienced. She arched her back, pressing herself against his mouth, but once again, he left her body pleading for more as his mouth and hands at the last second made the return trip up the soft skin of her abdomen, tracing a path between her breasts and returning to claim her mouth once again.

She strained against him now, her own hands becoming urgent and demanding. She laid her palms against his chest, tracing her fingers along the grooves between his taut muscles and sliding them down over the waist of his trousers. When one hand came to rest over the length of his manhood beneath the fine fabric, she felt his sharp intake of breath and smiled against his mouth in satisfaction. Her other hand moved to undo the clasp. As it pulled free, she slid one hand inside and pulled the last barrier between them down over his hips. Erik moved a hand to aid her in their removal. Succeeding easily, he lay his naked body down to cover hers.

As he leaned down to nuzzle her ear, she reveled in the feel of the solidness of him against her. One large, deft hand slid down the length of her side, his thumb brushing over her breast as his hand continued its journey, finally sliding beneath her buttock to lift her against him. His eyes sought hers and his question was plain. He was seeking her consent. With her own eyes never leaving his, she nodded.

Gently, he took her mouth in his own as he entered her. He caught the breath which she released upon his entry and with one hand beneath her left shoulder and the other beneath her bottom, held her tightly against him as he began to move within her. Christine whimpered with pleasure beneath his mouth and he groaned as he began at last to lose his tightly held control.

As he rocked against her, passion and sensation mingled and intertwined, and the two lovers became entirely caught up in the experience of one another. A magnificent hazy pressure was building quickly between them, a feeling somewhere between the realms of intense pleasure and pain. At last, Christine heard Erik breathe, "I love you" gently against her ear as they both passed the threshold into unimaginable bliss and completion.

In that moment, it was as if their souls fused, brought together by the breath of their lungs and the connection of their bodies so that never again could they exist as two separate individuals, but now would forever be joined as one flesh.

For several moments, the two lay exhausted, still shuddering at the after effects of the mutual pleasure they had experienced and shaken to the core by the rush of powerful emotion that drowned their hearts and minds. Finally, Erik pulled her tightly into the safe harbor of his strong arms and she laid her head against his chest in wonder and contentment.

Never had she dreamed it could be like this. This man was truly something extraordinary. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "I love you too, Erik."

Erik smiled. It was the last thing he heard before he fell into the most peaceful sleep of his life.


	21. Wings To Fly

**A/N:** A short chapter, I know, but I wanted to get this much up since I didn't post yesterday.

**Note: **For purposes of my story, I have decided to go back and change Christine's stage name to "Signora" Angela de Renoir rather than "Signorina" Angela de Renoir. So just know that in the past, she always had herself referred to as "Mrs." rather than "Miss". I had used it the other way around before, but it makes more sense to me that she would have wanted everyone to think she was married to avoid unwanted male attention. Erik will continue to call her "mademoiselle" because he knows she is no longer married and neither wants to be reminded of the time when she was. I hate having to go back and change stuff, but in this case, it was necessary. Forgive me.

phantomann: Hurray! She is back. Did Jema tell you that my muse went along with you on vacation? It was terrible. I was museless the entire time. But then I heard you were coming back and "Voila" – immediate fluff! So don't ever leave me again, seriously. And I am really hurt you would accuse me of plotting to "flatten" the fluff as you put it. Lord woman, when will you ever learn that I always leave readers with a happy ending? Are you familiar with the Elvis tune, "Suspicious Minds"? Well you have one.And you will have your proofed fic chapters tonight at last. I am going to email you shortly. Jema is busy writing me a life right now, so I think I have sufficiently slowed her down in her fic so we can concentrate now on yours.

lafemme540: Yes, it was time.

XCiel: Yes, yes he is, my dear.

Kagome1514: Sorry these last chapters haven't been coming as quickly. I have been spending all my time on MSN chatting with JemaModa. (Slaps own wrist - Bad author, bad!) And my life has been getting busier by the day, so be forewarned. Glad our sexy masked hero could "sate" you. I liked the Moon and tide thing too. To me, E and C's attraction is something very natural and intense.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Sorry about the wait. I did make Erik's shirt see-through. I would think that would be better anyway. And besides, they wore so many heavy undergarments in those days below those poofy dresses; I doubt he would have been able to see much anyway.

Pertie: I did drag it out a bit to torture you all, but you will forgive me now, won't you? And _two_ thank-yous this time – you must have especially enjoyed this chapter. (Hee Hee Hee )

draegon-fire: Well, Christine will not be able to resist dropping her bombshell for much longer, although Erik does have a delicious way of distracting her. Glad you like it so far.

erikfan: Wow! What compliments! You have left me speechless. But I don't think I am quite in Danielle's league or anyone else's for that matter. This has just become a really fun hobby for me. Once again thank you, so much for all your kind words.

Wilting Angel: I am so glad you didn't think it was trashy. I wanted it to be erotic without being smutty, as you say. I am glad you thought I succeeded. PS – Thanks for the cookie, but I will have to frame it rather than eat it since it is Erik-shaped.

eternalcelestial: I am happy I could make you smile. Sigh. E and C are together at last. Nothing could ever possibly go wrong now! (Bwoohoohahah)

Madame OG: You are welcome. Do you need a cigarette or something?

Mz. Kelsi: Love you too, babe. You must be a Midwesterner like me, judging from the "holy cow" thing. Thanks for the compliments!

darklady5289: Thank you. I do usually try to be tasteful in my EC love scenes, but sometimes my Erik phantasies take over. So I am very glad I did not cross over into the smutty/trashy category. Happy you liked it!

Hearts Aflame: I LOVE THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON TOO AND I LOVED YOUR LAST POST! You seriously made me laugh out loud. I thought you would enjoy those last two chappies.

Twinkle22: Oh, more twists and turns to come, as always. And yes, unfortunately our Fop-free days are numbered.

Orphelia-Rose: (Hands OR a tissue for sobbing.) Glad you liked it!

xxphantomphanessxx: So happy to have you back, my dear, despite my recent idiocy. I try never to do graphic stuff. This one was quite a bit edgier than my last one because this story seemed to kind of demand it. But I am never quite comfortable writing love scenes at all. And while E and C have a powerful sexual component to their relationship, they also are soul mates, so any love scene between them should address both aspects of their union in my opinion.

JemaModa: Yeah, you know all about my "darker side", don't you woman, or lack thereof in this case. Aren't you supposed to be writing me one as we speak? So what are you doing reading this? You don't have time for this sort of stuff anymore. And yes, I will just this once allow you to bow down to her highness (Darkest) for the "_inspiration_" (hint, hint, nudge, nudge) that my story gave you the other night. You know what I mean, you saucy little vixen. And thanks as always for your kind reviews. Of course you are now obligated to give me good reviews since we are officially friends now. (Tricky, ain't I?)

**Ch. 21 – Wings To Fly**

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. The early daylight held the promise of heat later in the afternoon and the moisture from the previous night's storm still hung heavy in the air. Erik stirred as the morning sunlight crept along the wooden floor and finally touched his unmasked face, piercing the hopelessly inadequate barrier of his eyelids.

Erik opened his eyes. The day seemed far advanced, although he couldn't be sure exactly what time it was. Christine had almost certainly missed her morning rehearsal, but if she hurried she might make the afternoon session. He knew he should wake her. Still, as he lay stroking her curls which were fanned out over his chest, he was loath to disturb her. Last night had been perfect and he was enjoying immensely the feel of her snuggled happily against him.

He lay contemplating all the twists of Fate that had conspired to bring them together at last. Their paths had indeed taken many unfortunate turns along the way, but perhaps Destiny's intent had been to ensure that he and Christine would always appreciate and never take for granted the gift they had been given in the end.

Erik wondered briefly what would happen now. He had purchased a ring the previous morning before Christine's visit, but he had resolved to wait and see where the day led before offering it to her. Considering all that had occurred since then, he decided that perhaps the time had come. They had already wasted far too much time as far as he was concerned. After all, he was no longer a young man, nearly forty-three, and he wanted as many years with Christine as possible before his life was ended. Besides, if Christine desired children as he did, it would probably be best to hasten their efforts. He grinned. _Last night was certainly a good start to that_, he thought.

Trying hard not to disturb Christine, Erik reached his free arm toward his coat hanging over a nearby chair. As the garment fell to the floor, he was relieved to find it already dry. Reaching his hand into the inside pocket, he withdrew a tiny velvet box. Smiling, he opened the lid and gazed with satisfaction upon its inhabitant: a platinum band entirely encircled in several brilliantly cut diamonds with beautiful artistic designs etched into the precious metal forming its top and bottom borders. Though in flawless condition, it had an antique look about it, and the quality was clearly that of a different era.

Erik snapped the lid shut and tucked the box carefully beneath the edge of the blanket. He took hold of Christine's hand which had been resting on his chest and began to kiss each finger, steadily making his way up her arm. When he reached her shoulder, he looked up and found her velvet brown eyes were watching him, desire already evident in their depths and a knowing smile upon her lips.

She looked even lovelier than the night before. The morning sun ignited her curls, causing them glow with hints of amber and mahogany as they lay tousled about her face. Her skin appeared warm and flushed from sleep and her expression was one of lazy satisfaction. With a mischievous grin, she lifted her head and began to first kiss the contours of his chest and then the flat of his stomach just above the blanket draped enticingly low across his waist.

Despite his noble intentions, Erik let out a low growl of immediate need and rolled her over to once again cover her body with his own. It was as if the release of the previous night had never been; rather than being sated, if anything, the pleasure of the evening before had only served to wet their appetites for each other. Immediately their mouths found each other hungrily once more, their bodies straining against one another. With a groan, Erik reached for her arms and slid them above her head, pinning them there with his own, their fingers intertwined.

He was no longer patient, but rather urgent in the demands he placed upon her body. Although careful not to hurt her, his movements were raw and aggressive, with one purpose clearly in mind. Christine moaned softly, finding his lack of restraint even more thrilling than his careful, slow seduction. The sound of her submission only seemed to urge him onward and without warning, he entered her once again, forcefully this time. She let out a soft cry of surprise, and the two once again slipped off into another dimension, one where sensation and emotion were heightened, spiraling together in a marvelous crescendo until the ultimate explosion of bliss brought them gently back to earth.

They lay for a long time afterward saying nothing. Christine's head was once more against Erik's chest and his hand had returned to stroke her hair. Both were awed and frightened by the intensity of what had transpired between them.

Before the events of the last three days, Erik had been certain of his ability to live without Christine, but now he felt that his heart would shrivel and die if she refused his offer of marriage. Christine, in turn, now knew without a doubt that she could never return to her previous existence before Erik. Even the magnificence of La Scala dimmed in comparison to the exhilaration she felt in his arms.

"Erik," Christine whispered softly at last, "there is something I must tell you."

Erik's hand paused above her hair and he felt suddenly wary. There was a hesitance to her voice as she spoke the words, and from past experience he knew the near perfection of his current existence surely couldn't last forever.

"Yes, my love?" He held his breath.

"Yesterday afternoon before I came here, I was offered a temporary position as the lead soprano at the La Scala in Milan." The words came out in a long rush, as if she had been holding them back for far too long. "I accepted it." She clenched her eyes shut tightly and awaited his reaction with dread.

There was silence for many moments, as Erik considered what her unexpected announcement might mean. He was proud of her certainly. To sing at La Scala was a great honor, everyone knew that. And in truth, he had no doubts that the invitation would have come long ago had her career not been interrupted by a disastrous marriage. But on the other hand, he couldn't help but be hurt by the fact that even after the first night of their reunion she had given no thought to the effect her decision might have on their future. It was ironic. He had angrily condemned Raoul's attempts to keep Christine from the stage. But in his current position, he now found he felt a small measure of understanding for the predicament the boy had found himself in when he had married an opera diva.

As Christine's tutor, Erik had always dreamed of this opportunity for her, but if he were to become her husband, he had no doubt her new success would complicate matters. First and foremost, he had to admit he was not entirely comfortable with the idea of his wife on display for a thousand admiring eyes. He had lived in an opera house long enough to understand the life of a prima donna: countless invitations from admirers, love-struck young men in the hallways declaring their undying devotion, a dressing room constantly filled with flowers from would be suitors. How would he respond to that? After all, he had nearly murdered out of jealousy the only other serious suitor Christine had ever had. In addition, any plans for a family would almost certainly have to be postponed indefinitely, and then there was always the fact that he had made his home here in Florence and had no wish to leave it. But on the other hand, neither did he wish to be parted from her again. What could he do?

Erik closed his eyes tightly. Despite the pain it would cause him, he knew what was required of him. Christine had earned this opportunity. It was her dream, a dream that he had helped to create for her. He could not deny her it, no matter what the cost. She belonged on that stage. It was in her soul. To deny Christine her rightful place in the limelight would be like denying her the privilege of breathing.

He buried his face in her curls, clinging to her tightly for a moment.

"Congratulations, my darling. I am so very proud of you."

He whispered the words, his heart breaking silently inside his chest. As much as he longed to make her his wife, he knew that he wouldn't be the one to hold her back from her destiny. If he married her, he had no doubt she would insist upon giving it up for his sake. But in his heart, he knew she wasn't meant to belong to any one person. She had a gift that was meant to be shared with the world. The bittersweet chains of love and marriage would only keep her grounded when everything within her was born to fly.

Tears that he would never allow her to see filled his eyes. It seemed Fate was once again having her way with them both.

At his words, Christine lifted her head, her eyes shining with happy tears. "I knew you at least would understand how much this means to me." She threw her arms around his neck and rolled onto his chest, kissing his face repeatedly in her excitement. Erik chuckled at her enthusiasm despite himself.

With a lazy grin on his face and his hands intimately exploring the curve of her backside, he purred into her ear, "My dear, unless you wish to miss an entire day of rehearsals, I suggest you stop that immediately or you will once again find yourself on the receiving end of my amorous advances."

Christine returned his impudent grin with a devilish one of her own. "As if that would be such a terrible thing, good sir. When you put it that way, I may never stop." She held his eyes and began once more to move her lips against the taut skin of his chest, delighting in her ability to arouse him. But Erik immediately grasped her by the arms and set her away from him.

"As your former tutor, I feel it is my duty to remind you or yours. Go and dress yourself you wicked woman, or I shall surely lose my mind." He reached upward and handed Christine her dress. She gave him a pouting look, but turned obediently to prance up the stairs.

When she was nearly half way up, Erik called after her, "By the way Signora de Renoir, I have been meaning to ask you something. However did you come by your stage name?"

Christine grinned, but did not turn around, calling back, "I chose it because it was the role I most longed to play."

With that, she slipped up the stairs, leaving Erik staring after her, torn desperately somewhere between joy and despair.


	22. Imminent Departures

**A/N:** A nice long one for you and prompt in my posting too. I am sure you will all be impressed. I do feel I must provide you with an angst alert for this chapter, however, I do label it once again 100 Fop Free. Some things are just too good to last though, so don't get too comfortable in his absence.

phantomann: Ah, but remember that Christine doesn't know he was about to propose and has no idea that he is intending not to in light of her career. So she isn't technically being a women's libber. She wants both the marriage thing and the career thing. It is Erik that worries he will distract her from her dream. Again, rather than risk her unhappiness, he is willing to sacrifice his own. What a man. And I am sure between the three of us phangirls from MSN we can sufficiently comfort the poor man in her absence.

Twinkle22: You will have to wait a bit longer for the marriage thing, however it does get discussed at least in this chapter though not between E and C, if that helps at all. You will understand in time...

Kagome1514: I am glad you went through so many different emotions in that one, because E and C were supposed to be doing the same: happy to be together, uncertain about the future, etc. And I swear I will read and review you fic as soon as I finish this one, but honestly, I have been neglecting my own along with all my other responsibilities lately, so I have to put you off a bit longer. Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to read it. I just have to postpone it a little. Forgive me.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Yes, with all the angst completely behind them (ahem...coughs and looks away innocently) they have at last the opportunity to be somewhat playful at last. About bloody time too, in my opinion. This author lady is really evil.

Pertie: I would never break our Erik. I love him too much. But he needs someone to slap some sense into him, so I have arranged for such a someone to reenter the story.

draegon-fire: Three months to be exact. And yes, Raoul and Jacques are indeed looming on the horizon.

erikfan: Indeed he will manage, but it will not be easy. I used your special "dark lover" phrase in this chapter. See if you can find it. I was waiting for just the right spot to use it. Thanks again!

dramatic-singer: Erik has his reasons and they will be explained more thoroughly in this chapter. But there is one person who just might be able to make him see reason...

Wilting Angel: Don't worry, dear. I have someone on the way to help. You will see.

eternalcelestial: How about a hug for your beloved author? You probably won't want to hug me after the next few chapters, so I will take love and cookies now while I can get it.

Abby Kovac: Yep. Now you know. :

xxphantomphanessxx: Right. Well said. Where would all the drama be if everything went according to plan? So I have a certain amount of responsibility as an author to balance fluff with angst. We have been in a bit of a fluff glut for a while, so time to even things out a bit.

Hearts Aflame: Right. We have been Fop free for quite a few chapters now. All good things must eventually end, although he will not appear in this chapter either. And when things get too depressing, you can always go back and read good old chapter 20. Fluff galore!

Orphelia-Rose: Nope. No proposal in this one either, though we do come very close. Weren't you one of those people who really wanted to know about her stage name, or am I thinking of someone else. Well, either way, now you know!

JemaModa: I laughed out loud when I read your review. I totally had the slap on the backside written in at that exact spot and then removed it because I thought it would be offensive! Deviant minds think alike, as usual! Sorry to disappoint you with that last one. You will be really upset after this one. You may not even speak to me a couple of chapters down the road. So we will just have to MSN as usual then, I guess. Thanks for the review, lady! Loved the "tomato garden" story BTW.

**Ch. 22 – Imminent Departures**

The next two weeks flew by in a golden haze. Every day after rehearsals, a carriage would arrive promptly at 2:00 to carry Christine to Porto Dell' Angelo and Erik's awaiting arms. The afternoons were spent in a variety of occupations. Most recently, Erik had taken it upon himself to teach Christine how to cook, since she had expressed an interest. Though an enthusiastic pupil, she was often silly, dabbing flour on his nose or sneaking tastes when she knew full well he was watching. Usually her antics would result in a playful tussle followed by an amorous adventure on the floor of the kitchen. After supper, the two would go for an evening stroll or sit talking for hours on the portico as they watched the stars come out.

Every night, they lay down in each other's arms. Their lovemaking was no longer hurried and frantic, but rather slow and tender. Afterwards, they would lie awake, lost in each other's eyes, whispering pledges of love and everlasting devotion between them. With every passing night, the two grew closer in body, mind, and spirit. But with every dawn, Christine's carriage would arrive to carry her away again, and Erik would be left alone to ponder what he would ever do without her when she left for Milan and La Scala.

On the evening before her departure, Christine lay awake watching Erik sleeping peacefully in the moonlight. _God how I love him_, she thought as she gently touched the perfect side of his face that lay turned to her view. Tears filled her eyes at the weight of her emotion.

She had naturally assumed after that first night in the guest house that Erik would accompany her to Milan. But as the days went by, he had made no mention of it, and now she grew increasingly fearful that his intention was to remain here in Florence for the duration of her three month stay.

Erik stirred slightly in his sleep at the light touch of her fingers upon his face, but did not awake. She watched the steady reassuring rise and fall of his chest and crept as close to him as she could, wishing she could cling to him forever. She had desperately hoped he would propose marriage to her after the perfection of their days together, but much to her disappointment, he had never spoken of it and her heart ached for an explanation.

She knew without a doubt that he loved her. It was there in his eyes every time he looked at her. Even if he had never spoken the words aloud, which of course he _had_ countless times over the past weeks, she would have been certain of his feelings toward her. Erik was the kind of man who showed his love plainly in a thousand charming and thoughtful ways every day. Little gestures like a fresh rose and a note left for her on his pillow whenever he arose before her or simply taking her hand in his every time he had the chance always served to remind her of the devotion of his heart. He never left his feelings for her in doubt.

Christine bit her lip. Perhaps she was simply being impatient. After all, they had only been officially courting for less than two week's time, although they had pledged themselves to each other in their hearts years before. And yet, nagging doubts filled her mind.

_What if Erik simply does not wish to be tied down by a wife and family?_ The thought filled her with panic. That was what she had wanted with him since the day after the opera fire when she had realized her love for him at last. But Erik had always been a loner, answering to no one and coming and going as he chose. It was certainly possible that he simply wished to enjoy a few fleeting moments with her now and then, disappearing again when he felt the need and returning at his leisure. Having lived a life alone, he seemed so independent and mysterious to her, even now. Could she ever truly tame such an unbroken, powerful spirit? Did she really want to?

Erik's enigmatic personality was one of the things she loved most about him, though it frustrated her at times. He was her dark lover, the fiery and passionate genius who resisted all of the world's efforts to force him into the mold of a common man. He was so very different from other men, so unique and unpredictable. On one hand, she would never have him be anything else. But on the other, she desperately wanted him as her husband. It would be so wonderful to be escorted on his arm to every performance, to return home to him each night, and in time, to be the mother of his children, though admittedly her career would most likely force them to delay any attempts to start a family, at least for a while.

Suddenly a new thought crossed her mind. Could it be, perhaps, that Erik did not wish to be the husband of an opera diva? Certainly he of all people would never hold her occupation against her, for he had always supported her ambition. But it was very possible that he was not entirely comfortable with the idea of his wife and the mother of his children on stage. Erik was a possessive man by nature, largely out of self preservation. After all, love had failed him many times before. It would be very difficult for him to accept all of the attention she would receive, the vast majority of it being of masculine origin. There would always be the occasional suitor such as Raoul dazzled by her opera persona and pursuing her despite her blatant refusals. While she merely considered it an unavoidable annoyance, she could hardly blame Erik for being wary such situations after all that had happened between them in Paris.

Christine sighed. She knew Erik would never ask her to choose between his love and her dream. He would almost certainly step aside, removing himself from the equation so that she would have no choice but to pursue it. Even if she were to ask him to marry her, she doubted now he would anyway. He would see himself as a distraction from her destiny, when in her eyes, he _was_ her destiny.

Tears traced silently down her cheeks. She was torn between two seemingly incompatible futures. In two days' time, she would be leaving one to find the other. But she could not shake the feeling that she was abandoning the wrong one. After many moments, her eyes finally closed in restless sleep, tears still clinging to her lashes.

The next morning, she arose to find the usual note and rose upon Erik's pillow, telling her that he had went into town to deliver his architectural sketches from the past week and breakfast awaited her downstairs. She smiled at his thoughtfulness and stretched, standing and pulling on the white satin robe that Erik kept there for her.

Christine was a bit disappointed that he was not there this morning when she awoke, but she assumed he would be at the opera house waiting to see her off.

She sighed heavily. Her feelings concerning her imminent departure were a confusing mixture of intense excitement and heavy leaden dread. Her thoughts alternated between the two conflicting emotions as she bathed and dressed, pulling her hair back neatly and sitting her hat carefully atop her head.

When she came downstairs at last, she noted that her bags had already been dispatched, for they were no longer by the door. Her heavy trunks would be awaiting her at the opera house. Looking towards the direction of the kitchen, she paused. There in clear view from the doorway, she saw a familiar copper-skinned face at the breakfast table.

"Nadir!" she called in surprised delight. She quickly covered the distance between them and immediately wrapped him in a lavender scented embrace. He chuckled at her enthusiastic greeting.

"Why hello, my dear," he stepped back to look at her, "You look wonderful, Christine. Love and happiness agree with you, it seems."

She blushed, but her eyes sparkled and a brilliant smile lit her face. His words were certainly true, even if she was momentarily disappointed that her and Erik's relationship was not progressing as quickly as she would have liked.

She seated herself across the table from him and reached for a pastry and some fruit. "It is so good to see you, Nadir. I am sure Erik was delighted to have your company once again."

Nadir snorted. "I arrived over two weeks ago at his invitation, but since my first visit he hadn't contacted me once. I finally came to confront him with his rudeness, to which he simply replied that he had been otherwise occupied and to stop badgering him like a neglected housewife."

Christine laughed in amused understanding. "That certainly sounds like something Erik would say."

Nadir chuckled. "Indeed it does. Now, my dear, tell me all about your life since we last corresponded. I hear you have achieved even greater success as of late." His eyes were kind as ever and sincere in their interest. However, Christine noticed at once there were dark circles beneath them and he appeared a good deal thinner than the last time she had seen him. She was a bit concerned, but she knew he had recently been traveling extensively and she attributed her observations to that fact.

The two conversed pleasantly for several moments until Christine's carriage arrived in the driveway.

"Oh, my goodness! I am late again." She stood abruptly and extended her hand to Nadir. He took it in his own and kissed the back of it lightly.

"It was so wonderful to see you. Will you be in Florence long?" Christine asked, hurriedly gathering her things to leave.

Nadir smiled. "It so happens I will be staying here for an extended period of time. I have tired of Paris's intrigues and Florence is an enchanting, peaceful city. It has cast its spell on me for the moment, at least until my feet become restless once again and decide to move on."

Christine smiled in return. "That is wonderful, Nadir! It will be so nice for Erik to have a friend here. And I always enjoy your company as well, though I suppose I won't be around much for a while." Her face fell slightly at the words, as if she were just at that moment realizing that she was really leaving.

Nadir noticed and raised an eyebrow. "Erik is not accompanying you then? Forgive me, but I would have expected to find the two of you married by this time."

Christine's face held a pained expression for a moment. "There is nothing I want more, Nadir. But Erik hasn't asked it of me, and he hasn't offered to come to Milan either, even to watch me perform." She looked troubled. "Nothing in this world is more important to me than Erik, Nadir. Even my career means nothing to me without him." She sought his eyes. "Tell him that for me won't you?" she asked softly.

Nadir nodded. "Of course, Christine, I will do my best, although Erik is not always open to such conversations. Good luck in Milan. We will see one another soon, I expect."

Christine reached up and kissed his leathered cheek fondly. "Thank you, dear friend, for all you have done." She moved to leave, and then turned back. "For both of us."

Nadir watched her walk out the door with concern. He sighed in weary frustration. Why did Erik always insist upon stubbornly denying his own happiness, even when the winds of fortune at last blew his way? The man had been granted a great gift in the love of this rare woman and it seemed he was once again intent on forsaking it out of his own pigheadedness.

_What on earth is holding him back this time? _Nadir wondered. _Christine is leaving for three months and he doesn't even bother to say goodbye? Where the devil is he? _

Nadir didn't have long to wait for his answer. Erik stalked in moments after Christine's carriage rolled out of the driveway. He was quite obviously in a terrible temper, and Nadir knew better than to question him, but rather waited patiently for Erik to offer his explanation.

"What are you still doing here, Daroga? I thought I told you quite clearly earlier that today was not a particularly convenient day for you to visit." His voice was low and held the familiar note of warning.

Nadir eyed him placidly. "I merely wished to hear your reasons for allowing the love of your life to walk out the door for three months without so much as a goodbye from you." His tone was one of gentle reproof. "Do you plan to bid her farewell from the opera house?"

Erik stood braced against the kitchen countertop, staring out the window with his back to his friend.

"No." he replied simply.

"Are you planning on accompanying her after all, then?" Nadir asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, Daroga, I am not. Do you wish to chastise me for that too, like a wayward child who refuses to attend Sunday mass?" His words were sarcastic, but beneath them, Nadir could sense deep pain and uncertainty.

Nadir's normally impenetrable air of patience was unraveling quickly at his friend's insensitivity. "Erik, it is blatantly obvious that extraordinary woman loves you with every fiber of her being. It is bad enough that you deny yourself happiness at every turn, but must you continue to deny Christine of it as well? Hasn't the child suffered enough from your stubbornness?"

For once, the Persian's eyes were lit by anger. He had had enough of Erik's self pity and foolish obstinacy. For once Fate had opted to show kindness to this tormented man and Erik seemed thoroughly prepared to spit recklessly in Her face, rejecting the gift he had been given. _And for what?_ Nadir asked himself. _Pride? A misplaced sense of duty? Self-denial?_ It seemed a certain sin to squander such an opportunity. After all, life was short, as he himself knew all too well.

Erik turned around sharply. He looked slightly taken aback by his gentle friend's sudden wrath and his voice was almost apologetic when he spoke at last. "Daroga, I would never do anything to hurt Christine, you know that," he said miserably, running a restless hand through his hair.

Nadir threw up his hands in disgust. "You are hurting her right now by keeping yourself from her. She told me as much this morning!" His words were stern, as if he were indeed reprimanding a child.

In many ways, Erik was a child when it came to handling his emotions, but it was certainly understandable considered the cruelty he had suffered and the years he had spent alone. Only recently had he emerged as part of the world, and that time had served as a learning experience for him in his relationships with other people. Even Nadir had to admit that he had already made astounding progress. After all, to the Persian's knowledge, he hadn't killed anyone in over eight years. For Erik, that was an impressive change.

Erik sighed, looking suddenly beaten. "Daroga, you know that I love Christine with all my heart. I want nothing more than to marry her, but I am afraid that marriage, especially to me, would only hinder her in her pursuit of that which is most important to her. I couldn't live with myself if she gave up her dream for my sake." He looked away, tears springing to his eyes.

Nadir stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process. Erik's words were the final straw. He towered to his full height, shaking slightly in anger and frustration. "Erik, you stubborn pigheaded man! _YOU _are that which is most important to her."

Erik looked quite shocked at his reserved friend's sudden outburst. For once, he remained entirely silent.

Nadir continued his rant, finally venting the frustration he had held inside over the many years of their friendship. "Erik de Renoir, you have no idea how I tire of watching you throw everything good in your life to the winds and then sullenly mope about for years after moaning about how life has robbed you of everything you hold dear. Fate is not stealing anything from you this time, my friend. You are discarding this woman of your own free will, and such extravagance is worthy of deepest reproach."

Erik winced visibly at his words, but Nadir did not soften in his rebuke. "You will not live forever, Erik, no matter how above mortality you mistakenly imagine yourself. None of us will. Now stop acting like a misguided self-sacrificing buffoon and go catch her. She wants to marry you, Allah protect her, and you had best seize the opportunity, for I doubt you will ever find another willing to put up with you."

Nadir stood unwavering, his eyes still blazing as he caught his breath after his long speech. He did not regret his words. After years of quietly enduring Erik's tempers and eccentricities, he no longer had time for such foolishness. He loved Erik like a brother and would never condemn him for what he had done in the past because he understood the suffering the man had endured. But he would no longer stand aside and watch him willingly subject himself to further misery unnecessarily out of some misplaced belief that Christine would be better off without him.

Erik stood staring at his friend for many long moments. He had never seen Nadir in such a state. In fact, he had never even heard the man raise his voice. After his momentary shock, a grin slowly spread across his face.

"Did you really just call me 'pigheaded' and a 'self-sacrificing buffoon', Daroga?"

Nadir's anger melted in an instant and he chuckled in spite of himself. "Indeed I did. But I thought someone had best do something to shake you from your idiocy before you made the biggest mistake of your life for...let me see... the third time, would it be?"

He was no longer angry, but he looked slightly pale after the force of his outburst and flopped wearily back into his chair, closing his eyes.

Erik walked past him, laying a hand upon the Persian's shoulder briefly on his way out the door. "Thank you my friend," he said quietly. Nadir nodded, but did not open his eyes.

Erik called back gaily over his shoulder on his way out the door, "Since you have pestered me so mercilessly about it, I will indeed ask the woman to marry me with no further delay."

Nadir called back irritably, "See that you do, or you will have to endure another of my verbal lashings upon your return. They seem far more effective than my years of patient counsel."

Erik smiled in amusement at his words on his way to the stables. He was jogging now in his haste to catch Christine before she made it to the train. As he saddled his horse, he saw Rosa wave to him as she crossed the lawn to enter the house. Erik waved back with a smile. She had made a habit of coming over every morning after breakfast for a pastry and a quick language lesson. He enjoyed her visits immensely, but today Nadir would have to make his apologies for him, for he had an urgent and long overdue date with destiny.

Erik swung himself up into the saddle, feeling the ring to be certain it was still tucked safely inside his breast pocket where it had remained for the past two weeks. Satisfied, he rode out of the stable and into the driveway.

Just as he was about to head out into the open road at a full gallop, Rosa came flying out from the house right in front of him, so that he had to pull Demon back hard in order to avoid crushing the child.

His voice was harsher than he meant it to be out of his fear over what had nearly taken place. "Rosa, I have warned you never to run out in front of a horse. I could have killed you. Now run along. Our lessons will have to wait for another day. I have something I must attend to this morning."

The child looked hurt by his reproof, but she did not move from her position in front of the horse.

"Erik, I think your friend is sick." This time her words came out in English. From the start of their lessons, she had seemed to prefer it to the more difficult French she had been learning at the same time. Erik had always challenged her to resist speaking her native Italian in his presence, encouraging her instead to attempt to converse in either of the other two languages he was attempting to instruct her in.

He had no time to be impressed by her progress at the moment, however, and his eyes flew immediately to the house once he comprehended her words.

_Nadir_.

He jumped from the horse and ran toward the villa, thinking suddenly of how poorly his friend had looked the last two times he had seen him. And something about the words of his outburst this morning as well should have triggered warning bells in his mind, but he had been too preoccupied with his own troubles as usual to inquire as to his friends. He mentally berated himself for it now as he threw open the door and hastened to the kitchen.

Fear shot though him at the sight that met his eyes. Nadir was sprawled upon the floor unconscious, a deathly pallor clinging to his normally sun-touched Arab skin. Erik knelt down beside him, forgetting completely for a moment the urgency of his intended errand.

Christine, meanwhile, looked back at the empty depot platform as it shrank from view. Hot tears ran unhindered down her cheeks as she pressed her face against the glass and closed her eyes. He had not even come to say goodbye.


	23. A Deal with the Devil

**A/N:** Okay. I know I haven't been winning any popularity contests among you all lately, as Jema so kindly pointed out. But may I remind you that we just came through like four or five chapters of fluff, so I should get some credit for that? One clue for this chapter: you know I like to include lots of letters in my fics. Keep your eye on the envelope. I will say no more.

phantomann: I know. I would prefer for Christine to suffer as opposed to Erik or Nadir, but right now, no one is very darn happy, are they? But Christine's anguish becomes most acute in this chapter. So that should please you, you sadistic woman you.

Twinkle22: Sorry to keep you in agony. No help for you in this one either.

Kagome1514: Sorry, dear, but I did warn you this would be an angsty fic. If you want more warm fuzzies, check out my other two fics. My angst alert will be at "Red" meaning "high alert" for the remainder of this fic I can't help it. I like writing angst. It is more fun. Sorry!

LiltingBanshee: I remember you. Glad to have you back and I am also pleased you are enjoying the fic. If it helps at all, E and C's misunderstanding is not what they should be worried about right now. Bigger threats to their happiness are looming up ahead.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Thank you, dearie. I love Nadir too, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of the plot. Actually, he will recover somewhat in this chapter.

Pertie: Thank you. A lovely, extremely polite review as always and I am delighted to offer my attempts at entertainment to you all. I should be thanking all of you for reading it.

draegon-fire: It appears that I have you stumped. Yay! I think you will find that objects in this story are not as they appear. Cryptic enough for you? Thanks for the review.

lafemme540: Yes, Christine could have asked Erik to come along. But in my mind, they are still a bit shy and unsure around each other. They have loved each other intensely for years, but have never had the opportunity to realistically envision a future together. So they are still in that stage where you sort of hope the other person will bring up taking the relationship to the next level. They haven't clarified the nature of their relationship yet.

erikfan: Did I miss you on this one?

XCiel: Sorry to frustrate you. But, we can't just let them live happily ever after of the story would be over. That would be not good, right? Thanks for the review.

Mz. Kelsi: Yay! Midwesterners rule! Yes, I know everything is a horrible mess right now, but never fear, I can untangle all the plot knots I have created, if I want to, that is. Stay tuned.

darklady5289: I am afraid that the information you seek is confidential. I can neither affirm nor deny the fate of Nadir. You will just have to wait. And it was high time Nadir gave Erik a talking to, wasn't it?

Wilting Angel: Can I come out now? I have been in hiding from your angry wrath. I am very sorry that I took Erik's happiness away. We are talking deep repentance here. Am I forgiven?

eternalcelestial: I think even you will have to admit that was a slightly schizophrenic review. I have succeeded in flustering you! I think the gist was positive, so thanks. More plot twists in this one.

MadameOG: I love irony too. That is why I use it overmuch. Thanks! Oh, and don't slap too hard.

xxphantomphanessxx: Speaking to fictional characters is a side effect of reading too much fanfiction. Just ask me. "Erik, would you like to come along to pick up the drycleaning?" Erik says yes. And don't worry, now that Christine has had a glimpse of life with Erik, she isn't about to let wounded pride get in the way.

Hearts Aflame: No pouting in this fic! Pull yourself together, girl. There is much more to come. Ch. 20 should be read for personal enjoyment, not as an escape from the angst to come. USE ONLY AS DIRECTED!

JemaModa: Jema, I agree with you totally. I have sympathy for Erik, of course, and Nadir too, but absolutely none for our heroine. She has had Erik all to herself for two blissful weeks. Hey, we all love him too. How many weeks do we all get? NONE! So in all fairness, Christine should be feeling sorry for us. By the way, Jema, how is that fic coming. We are all waiting...

**Ch. 23 – A Deal with the Devil**

Christine endured the long train ride in silent thought. Her tears had long since dried and during the hours of her journey, her mind had cleared sufficiently to allow her reasonable thought. Erik loved her. There was no doubt in her mind. Something must have happened to prevent him from bidding her farewell that morning. No matter what his feelings about her accepting the position at La Scala, he would never allow anything to come between them again. Of this, she was certain. And she doubted hell itself in all its fury would be sufficient to restrain him when he chose to find her once again.

No, what pained her now was no longer uncertainty, but the simple anguish of missing him. How on earth would she survive three long months without him when her heart was aching in his absence after only three short hours?

She leaned her head against the window, completely oblivious to the blurred images of the lovely countryside beyond it. At last, the outskirts of Milan pulled into view, and she felt the nervous fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. Whereas Florence had a soft, peaceful charm, Milan was a bustling commercial center oozing sophistication. Though the city was certainly beautiful in its own distinct fashion, it seemed to her colder somehow, sharper in appearance and manner than the gentle grace of Florence. As the train pulled into the depot, the people on the platform appeared somehow too clear and perfect – their dress, their facial features, everything seemed far too polished, almost unnatural.

Christine sighed as she lifted her bag and exited the train. There was no one at the station to greet her, no familiar blue-gray eyes or strong arms to welcome her to what would be her home for the next three months. She bit her lip, trying desperately not to burst into tears. She felt lonely and hopelessly out of her element - alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces.

She hailed a nearby hansom and oversaw the loading of her trunks. Within a few moments, they were off. Christine instructed the driver to take her to an inn near the opera house. She felt weak and shaken, and needed a night to rest and gather her courage before the trial by fire that the morning would bring.

Once she arrived at the inn, she paid the driver in return for his promise to come by to collect her and her things again in the morning. Unlocking the door of her room, Christine dragged her things inside and collapsed unceremoniously on the bed. Perhaps things would appear differently in the morning, but at the moment, she was feeling very acutely that she might have made an immense mistake.

When she had first been offered the opportunity to sing at La Scala, she and Erik's relationship had only just begun. She had jumped at the chance without a second thought. But now, after knowing the simple joy of what life with him could be, all the fame and luxury of the world's grandest opera house seemed to pale in comparison.

Christine removed her heavy traveling clothes and tugged on her nightdress. She hadn't eaten all day and decided not to, since her stomach was already tied in a bundle of nerves related to tomorrow's events. She flopped down in a chair by the window, feeling restless and exhausted at the same time.

Suddenly, she had a thought. There was a tiny desk in the room and she moved over to it, hastily rummaging through the drawers. Finding what she was looking for, she sat down by the lamplight and began to write.

_Dearest Erik,_

_I have arrived safely in Milan, but I find my thoughts are still with you in Florence. I do not know why you were not there to bid me farewell, but I trust that something urgent must have required your attention. I do hope that all is well with you, my love. _

_Milan is a remarkable city, but it does not feel yet like home. I doubt it ever will, as home to me has come to mean wherever you are. I don't completely understand your reasons for staying away, but know always that I love you, Erik. All the fame in the world could never change that simple fact._

_Tomorrow I will go to La Scala and I will sing, but I will not be singing for them. I will give my soul, but as always, I give it only for you. Don't stay away too long, my darling. I can no longer bear life without you, now that I know the joy of it in your arms. _

_Yours always,_

_Christine_

Satisfied, she tucked it in an envelope and labeled it with his name and the address of Porto Dell' Angelo. Christine laid it on the table by the door with her handbag and resolved to mail it first thing in the morning, before heading to the opera house. Right now, however, the emotions of the day were taking their toll and she crawled gratefully into the large feather bed. She was no longer accustomed to sleeping alone, and she felt cold without the reassuring warmth of Erik's body next to her and the sound of his steadfast heartbeat beneath her ear. She tossed and turned for a time, then finally surrendered to a dreamless sleep.

Nadir awoke to the feel of a cool breeze on his face. The warm spring sunshine was pouring in the open window of the guest bedroom of Porto Dell' Angelo. He stared at the ceiling attempting to remember how he had come to be there. He vaguely remembered Christine's departure and a heated argument with Erik that had followed. Well, in truth, it had only been heated on his end, ironically enough. The next thing he remembered was waking.

He heard footsteps at the door and Erik entered, carrying a breakfast tray. "Crêpes, fresh fruit, orange juice – my friend, you have outdone yourself. Am I really that near to death that you would spoil me so?" Nadir's tone was light, but he could see that Erik was in no mood for his playful banter.

"What is it?" Erik's grave tone left no room for argument. He stood, arms crossed, at the foot of the bed, watching Nadir's face intently.

Nadir waved a hand in irritation. "Oh, a heart condition of some sort. They have no name for it, of course. The doctors in Florence have been as vague as those insufferable fools you Parisians call medical professionals."

Erik would not be deterred by Nadir's obvious reluctance to provide further explanation. "How long have you known?"

Nadir shrugged, avoiding Erik's eyes as he began cutting a crêpe with his fork. "Quite some time now. Since before you left Paris, at any rate."

"And yet you didn't see fit to share such information with me?" Erik was angered by his friend's omission, despite the fact that he had also kept numerous details of his own life from his friend in the past without a second thought.

Nadir snorted lightly. "You are hardly one to talk about keeping secrets, my friend."

"That is beside the point. Finding you nearly dead on my floor came as a bit of a shock, Daroga. You might have warned me." Erik knew he was overreacting to Nadir's secrecy concerning his illness. The Persian had always assumed a supporting role in their relationship and would never have wanted to worry Erik unnecessarily. Still, it was true that Erik had been greatly shaken by the image of his only friend sprawled unconscious on his floor.

Nadir seemed oblivious to Erik's indignation, choosing to concentrate instead on the food which was rapidly disappearing from the plate. "Truly Erik, if your career as an architect ever goes sour, I've no doubt you could obtain work as a chef. These are magnificent."

Erik was not amused. "It is fatal then," he asked quietly.

Nadir paused in his chewing, but did not meet Erik's accusing eyes. "Yes," he replied simply.

Erik drew in a sharp breath and moved over to the window staring unseen out onto the lush green lawns. "How much time do you have, Daroga?"

Nadir watched Erik struggling with his emotions at the window. He was touched that the man valued his friendship so. Then again, as far as he knew, aside from Christine, he was Erik's only friend.

"There is no way of knowing, apparently. They tell me it could be today or it could be twenty years from now. So in many ways, I am in the same situation as every other human being." The Persian gave a chuckle at his own ironic observation. "Have you sent word yet to Christine explaining your absence?"

Erik turned slightly, his face softening at the mention of her name. "Yes. I sent a messenger this morning with a letter."

Nadir set his tray aside and leaned back on the pillow closing his eyes. "So when are you leaving?"

Erik paused. "I will stay until I am certain you are alright and can arrange for someone to come here to care for you. I still hope to attend her first performance if you are well enough by that time."

Nadir nodded, still not opening his eyes. He was weary this morning and could not resist the drowsy warmth of the morning sun on his face.

As Erik peered down at the prematurely aged face of his friend, he saw a weakness there that had never been before. The Daroga had been his rock and his conscience for as many years as he cared to remember, the only man who had been brave enough to stand unflinching before both Erik's deformity, and his anger. But now, the Persian looked suddenly old and frail. Though it pained Erik to admit it, his friend had the unmistakable look of a man who was hunted by death.

Erik turned and left the room, pulling the door closed gently behind him. Lost in thought, he walked out the front door and sat down on the portico bench staring out over the city. He lowered his head into his hands, feeling suddenly very old and very alone.

Christine held a gloved hand to her waist and drew in a deep breath as she stepped into the magnificent front foyer of La Scala. Even the front hallway was impressive. The building itself was immense and very grand. But what overwhelmed Christine more than anything was the unbelievable feeling of history and legend that passed over her upon entering it. She could feel the roots of her art in this sacred place, hallowed by the most glorious voices in all of opera. She felt suddenly very young and insignificant.

Christine closed her eyes and wished with all her heart Erik could be there with her. His presence always reassured her and his quiet faith in her abilities brought her courage. It was that courage she was desperately lacking as she attempted to navigate the enormous building in order to find the manager's office.

"Signora de Renoir?" a kind voice called from behind her.

Christine turned to find a well-dressed gentleman smiling warmly and walking towards her with his hand extended.

In relief, Christine offered her own and the man gave a short bow and kissed the back of it lightly. "Signor Romando?" Christine inquired hopefully.

The man straightened, still smiling. He was a tall man, in his forties perhaps, with kind brown eyes and closely cropped dark hair.

"Si, Signora. It is wonderful to meet you at last. Though you may not be aware of it, I did indeed hear you sing once at the Teatro Comunale. When our leading soprano was unfortunately unable to finish the season, I thought of you at once. You grace us with your presence, Signora de Renoir. La Scala and I welcome you."

Christine felt relief wash over her. Someone at least was happy to see her there. "Thank you, Signor Romando; your sincere praise is an honor to me." She smiled and gestured to the building around her. "And this place, it is truly awe inspiring. I feel so very proud to be a part of such a long and distinguished legacy."

Signor Romando looked pleased. The woman before him was obviously very gracious in addition to being an exquisite beauty with remarkable talent. They were very fortunate to have her, he thought to himself.

"I will show you to your dressing room, Signora de Renoir, so that you may begin to feel comfortable in your new home. Rehearsals will begin tomorrow morning. I shall introduce you to Signor Giraldi, our conductor, and the rest of the La Scala family then."

As he spoke, he led Christine down a long and splendid corridor, informing her pleasantly of the daily rehearsal schedules and the location of various other rooms in the building. Christine listened intently, hoping to remember all the necessary information, but she found her attention still lingered on the opulence of her surroundings.

At last, they reached a lavishly muraled pair of double doors. Christine returned her focus to Signor Romando just in time to catch his last words as he opened the door.

"...and your husband is no doubt anxious to see you. He arrived earlier. I thought he would be most comfortable waiting for you in here."

Christine caught her breath. _Erik!_ She smiled brilliantly as she stepped into the large three-room suite, turning to express her gratitude. "Thank you, Signor Romando, for your kindness. I will have my things brought in at once and I look forward to rehearsals tomorrow morning."

Signor Romando gave a low bow. "We eagerly anticipate your debut, Signora de Renoir." He turned and headed off down the corridor. Christine closed the door and began to look around for a sign of Erik's presence. Her eyes fell on a beautiful arrangement of red roses adorning the dressing table. The perfection of the blooms and the black satin ribbon around the base told her at once who they were from. Her face lit immediately and she flew to the table, tearing open the accompanying note with impatience.

_My Dearest Christine,_

_I apologize for my absence yesterday. I have no excuse except to say that despite how very proud I am of you for what you have accomplished, in the end, I simply found watching you leave too painful to endure. I realized my error shortly after, and would have come to find you, but Nadir has taken very ill. I was forced to attend to him, though I very much regret being unable to be there with you. _

_Nadir's illness is quite serious, I am afraid, and it may be some time before I am able to join you. In light of our present circumstances, I find I must now make a very long overdue request of you by way of this letter. _

_My inquiry would perhaps be more appropriately made in person; however, I find I am unable to wait even one more day for your reply. Thus, I will make it now._

_I love you, Christine. You are my soul and my light. Without you, there is only darkness. You have made a whole man from one whom was broken. Will you be my wife at last? _

_If your answer is yes, you will find a token of my steadfast love and unfailing devotion awaiting you on your dressing table. _

_My life is in your hands, my darling. My heart will cease to beat while I await your reply. _

_Yours now and always, _

_Erik _

Christine's hands were shaking as she lowered the letter and her eyes returned to the dressing table. She searched its surface and then amongst the flowers, expecting to find a ring, but to her confusion found nothing. She dropped to her knees, hunting under the table, growing increasingly frantic that she may have lost it.

She eventually gave up and turned to search the rest of the room, but let out a loud shriek as she noticed a figure in the shadows that had remained unnoticed in her haste to read Erik's note.

"Raoul," she breathed, her eyes open wide.

He took a step forward and held out his hand. Glittering there in the light from the window was an elegant platinum band encircled with diamonds.

"Hello Christine. Were you looking for this?" He had an odd glint in his eyes and seemed strangely calm. Christine reached forward to snatch the ring from him, but he quickly withdrew his hand, closing it around the ring tightly.

"I am afraid, darling, that I cannot in good conscience allow you to throw your life away on a deformed murderer." He tucked the ring into his pocket.

Christine found her voice. "Give that to me," she hissed. "My life is my own to do with as I please - a fact that you always found it convenient to overlook in all our miserable years together."

Raoul ignored her words. "I'm afraid I have not come to chat, darling. I have come to make you an offer. Let me explain to you what I propose." He motioned with a gloved hand toward a darkened corner of the room. A second man emerged from the shadows. He was a dark contrast to Raoul's fairness, and his eyes were sharp and cold. His sneering face had a gaunt, sunken look about it that made Christine shudder.

"Jacques is a new acquaintance of mine. He specializes in the "extermination" of exactly the kind of scum that you seem so eager to marry."

Christine's hand flew to her mouth. _Jacques_ – _the man from the inn in Switzerland, _she thought fearfully. The man had an eager maniacal gleam in his eyes that revealed his lust for revenge. He looked quite capable of being what Raoul described him to be.

Christine suddenly felt sick. "What is it that you want?" she whispered. Somehow she knew what his offer would be before she even spoke the question.

Raoul smiled and reached his gloved hand to trace her jaw. Christine jerked away and slapped him hard across the face. With a strength and anger that surprised her, he grabbed her wrists and pushed her back roughly, pinning her against the wall.

"You are in no position to treat me in such a manner, Christine. Perhaps Philippe was right. I should have taken proper control of you when we were married, instead of allowing you free reign to make a fool of me." She could smell alcohol on his breath and felt once again she would be sick. But immediately, he thrust her away and seemed to regain his composure. "But there will be time to remedy that after we are once again husband and wife." He said the words with an alarming degree of confidence.

Christine stared at him in disbelief. "You are quite mad. The only ring I will ever accept from any man is in your pocket, and you would be wise to return it to me before he hears of your further treachery against him." She was no longer afraid, but instead furious, her eyes staring at him in cold disgust, her fists clenched.

He seemed for a moment wounded by her reply, as if he had somehow truly expected her to be pleased with his announcement of their impending reunion as husband and wife. But he recovered his businesslike demeanor quickly and stepped toward her. Christine took an involuntary step backward at the crazed look of empty triumph in his eyes.

He reached out, gently cupping her cheek. She did not raise her hand to him this time, but pulled back toward the wall, withdrawing from him as far as she could. She turned her face away and tears began to run down her cheeks at her helplessness to escape his unwanted touch.

"What do you want? Tell me and go," her voice was hoarse and filled with dread.

Raoul seemed slightly remorseful at her tears. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe them away, despite her efforts to resist.

"Don't cry Christine, it is all for the best. He can't take care of you the way that I can," he said softly. "It will all be better this time, you will see. I will even allow you to sing, if that is what you wish."

_He has lost his mind completely_, Christine thought in panic.

Praying to God it wasn't true, she asked quietly, "So you want me to marry you in return for Erik's life."

Raoul smiled. "Yes. A fair exchange, don't you think? You give me back my life in return for me allowing him to continue his."

Christine's mind was swimming. She felt lightheaded and the whole situation seemed far away, as if she was watching it from outside herself. She barely heard herself whisper the words condemning her to a life of misery.

"Then I suppose I have no choice," she whispered, feeling like an animal in a trap. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and the room seemed to darken and close in around her. This all seemed so familiar, and yet utterly backwards. She was briefly reminded of her own voice pleading for Raoul's life beneath the Opera Populaire as Erik had attempted to force her to make a similar choice. In the end, however, he had relented. She had no illusions that the desperate man before her would do the same. Erik had spared Raoul's life because he cared for her too deeply to cause her pain. Raoul had proven that he only cared for himself and would stop at nothing to get what he felt he was somehow entitled to him.

"Then it is agreed." Raoul said smugly. "Jacques and I will remain here in Milan until the end of your stay and agree not to harm a hair on that creature's hideous excuse for a head. At the end of your time here, you will return to Paris with me and take up your proper place as my wife, fulfilling your role with both enthusiasm and proper wifely devotion. Should you attempt to leave or harm yourself in any way, I will be forced to go back on our bargain and allow Jacques his revenge."

Christine nodded mutely, tears of resignation rolling down her face.

Raoul seemed satisfied by her apparent submission. He reached into his pocket and handed the ring to her. Christine looked up in confusion.

"Tomorrow, my dear, you will return this trinket along with a note expressing your deep regret that you will be unable to accept his offer. You will speak nothing of our arrangement. When he asks to speak with you, as he no doubt will, you will refuse. If you violate our agreement, his death will be swift and painful."

Christine accepted the ring in her trembling hands. It was beautiful, and so very unique, just like the man whom had offered it. She clutched it to her chest and dropped to her knees, weeping openly.

Raoul stepped carefully around her, Jacques following like a dog at his heels.

Christine did not look up. She was lost in her grief, her thoughts only of Erik and his pain. _What will I say to him? I will tear his heart to pieces all over again. He will never forgive me. _At the thought, she threw herself full length on the floor, sobbing.

Raoul gave a mocking bow from the door, his voice dripping with triumph. "Until tomorrow then, my lady."


	24. To Steal an Heir

**A/N:** In the words of Mz. Kelsi – "Holy cow!" I sure got you all ruffled with that last chapter. I can feel your hatred of the fop from over here. If I were Raoul, I would be less worried about Erik and more worried about you phangirls. To answer a common question, yes, Christine did mail her letter when she left the inn before heading to La Scala. And secondly, I only know of 3 people who picked up on all my subtle little hints about a major upcoming plot twist in this chapter. So, if you didn't see this one coming, hey, I left the bread crumbs. The trail was there to follow.

phantomann: Wow, lady you are serious. Ban me from MSN and replace all my Gerry pics with Piangi and Raoul – I mean that is just CRUEL! But an angst lover, I have to admit, that makes me love you even more. Here is another 4,000+ word offering, probably written in my blood from typing my fingers down to stubs to satisfy your impatient nature.

Mystic Darkness: Great screen name. Welcome to the fic. I am starting to hear a lot of chants of "Die, fop, die!" from my faithful readers. I suppose one must eventually give in to the will of the people...

Twinkle22: Okay, be careful with those heart conditions ladies. I have already got Ophelia-Rose in the bed next to Nadir. I am trying to update more quickly as the drama heightens to avoid a rash of phangirl heart attacks.

diveprincess: OUCH! A cliff, really? Wow. That is no fun at all. Were you thinking of Erik and just sort of wandered off, or what? Well, I will try to provide you with some reading material during your long recuperation.

dramatic-singer: I do believe in them, though that doesn't necessarily mean that I write them that way. You will just have to suffer for a while.

Pertie: "Super-charged angst" – I like that. Well, you will not have to wait long, dear. I am reeling you in as we speak.

draegon-fire: Sorry. In my mind, Raoul showed up at the Teatro Comunale and asked where Christine was. That is how he found out she was at La Scala. He is pretending to be her husband after all. Sometimes I forget that you all don't have the same info that I do because I keep a lot of it in my brain and forget what I have included and what I haven't.

The Divine Miss M: A Bette Midler fan, by any chance? Sorry for the angst, but welcome to the fic. Stay tuned.

lafemme540: At least you were just muttering about him and not angrily calling for his bloody, painful demise. But you do NOT sympathize with him anymore, right? Otherwise, I don't know if there is any hope for you.

erikfan: Raoul is a "disgusting worm". Erik should have bloody revenge. Got it and totally agree. As for Nadir, I can't promise anything either way. He is definitely still alive in this chapter, if that helps.

Ophelia-Rose: Careful with that heart condition or we are going to have to put you in the guest room alongside Nadir. Loved your rant about the fop. You are not alone in your despising.

XCiel: Erik will suspect something once he calms down a bit, don't worry. But initially, his reaction will probably be what you would expect.

darklady5289: You are not alone in wishing Raoul a slow and agonizing death at Erik's hand. In fact, you are in the vast majority with this group. Yes, Erik will be initially heartbroken, but of course his wrath will be vicious once he finds out what the fop has done. He owes him so major pain now.

eternalcelestial: An elephant-sized porcupine? Really? They have those? Very original method of torture for the fop, I must say. And you are going oversees? No fair. Go to Florence, there is a hot masked guy there who is going to be available by the end of this chapter.

xxphantomphanessxx: Very sneaky, reviewing under a different chapter – a move worthy of Erik. Okay, to answer your many questions. Yes, Christine sent the letter the morning she arrived at La Scala. Yes, it was addressed correctly and Erik receives it in this chapter. Yes, the flowers are indeed from Erik. He mentioned in the last chapter that he sent a messenger to her with his note, the ring, and no doubt the flowers on the day that she left. Yes, it is true that everyone at La Scala does believe R is C's husband, unfortunately, at least for the time being. And yes, Christine does sort of include a secret message in her note, but it will be Nadir that figures it out first. As for losing readers, I don't appear to be yet, tons of reviews for this one. You all must love torture, 'cause you keep coming back for more!

Hearts Aflame: Heck, as I said to Jema below you, I think Christine could take these two clowns. C won't risk having anything happen to E though, but if she were to warn him and he came of his own accord...

JemaModa: I think you are right. Those are universal male chest-beating behaviors employed when a man is deeply threatened by another man of obviously superior talent, intelligence, physical appearance, and just general sexiness. His are the words of a desperate man. And really, Raoul's bad boy self is pitiful. I think even Christine could take him if she wasn't in a delicate way at the moment. You will laugh at her thoughts about him in this chapter. I think a few of my own feelings concerning Raoul sort of seeped through into her brain.

**Ch. 24 – To Steal an Heir**

When Christine arose the next morning, she immediately felt a wave of nausea as she remembered the previous night's events. Her sleep had been fitful at best, fraught with dreams of Erik's stricken face when she had left him beneath the Opera Populaire. She lay staring at the ceiling for many moments, trying to clear her tangled mind.

_There must be a way out of this mess_, she thought desperately. _Perhaps if I were to try to talk to Raoul alone, I could somehow make him see the madness of all this. He loved me once, perhaps I can use that to my advantage now. _

She raised her left hand to admire her ring. It was so beautiful, so warm and lovely on her hand. Christine felt ill at the thought of having to remove it from her finger. The love that it represented seemed to radiate from it, giving her fresh courage. No, she resolved, if she were forced to return it, she would find a way to alert Erik to the situation secretly so that he wouldn't for a moment think she had truly refused him again.

Resolute now in her plans, Christine attempted to quickly rise from her bed, but found when she did so the room darkened for a moment, and she felt distinctly dizzy. _What on earth is the matter with me?_ She had always been prone to fainting under stress, but usually only when she was wearing a corset. She held out a hand to steady herself against the bed post.

Finally, she trusted her wobbly legs and began to dress. Perhaps she was weak because she hadn't eaten the day before. That seemed logical. But at the thought of food, her stomach rebelled violently until she felt she would vomit. A sudden suspicion crossed her mind, causing her to pause with her dress halfway over her hips.

_No, _she thought, _it couldn't be. After all, I was married for six years and never conceived before..._ But thinking back, she realized her monthly bleeding was overdue. It all fit: the nausea, the light headedness, the lack of appetite – she was pregnant!

Her mind raced as she hurried now to dress. But how could this be? Despite the fact that she had dreamed of being the mother of Erik's children, she had always believed that the chances were slim. After all, part of the reason Philippe had resented her as Raoul's wife had been her seeming inability to have a child.

Christine stopped, her hands pausing abruptly on the buttons of her dress.

_It was not me. I wasn't the one incapable of conceiving. It was Raoul who was unable to father a child._

The answer was obvious. To her knowledge, Philippe had never fathered a child either, despite his philandering. All along the two had been so quick to condemn her when it hadn't been her failing at all!

Her hands reached down protectively to her abdomen. Inside her now was the beginning of a new life, an innocent life that she and Erik had created from their love. Despite the horrible mess with Raoul, she could not help but weep for joy. When her tears dried at last, she was even more resolved to fight against Fate this time. No matter what she had to do, she would not allow Erik's child to be brought up in Raoul's home.

She needed to hurry or she would be late for her first day of rehearsal. For the moment, her other troubles would have to wait. With a grimace, she remembered that Raoul had said he would be returning today so she left the door unlocked. She needed to attempt to talk some sense into him anyway and she did not want rumors flying around the opera house that she had locked her "husband" out of her dressing room.

Willing her stomach into submission, she headed down the long corridor toward the stage. Smiling, she once again touched a gentle hand to her stomach. "Well, little one, you are about to have your very first taste of music," she whispered softly. "Your soul is certain to be filled with it."

Erik sat awaiting the post anxiously on the portico bench. It had been nearly three days since he had sent the letter containing his proposal to Christine. He was nearly certain she would accept, but was eager to read her reply for himself. This time everything felt right and very natural between them, instead of forced and tainted with dishonesty as in the past. For once in his life, he felt confident of their relationship. But still, he awaited her words of love and acceptance as impatiently as any child.

When the postman arrived, Erik noticed an envelope addressed in Christine's hand immediately. He thanked the man a bit more enthusiastically than usual and walked back to his bench to sit down and read without distraction.

Casting the others aside with no heed, Erik carefully opened the envelope and withdrew a single page. Sudden anxiety plagued him. What if he was wrong about her feelings? What if she refused him once again? He took a deep breath and began to unfold the page.

After several moments of reading, he paused, and with a puzzled expression lifted the envelope to look at the postmark. It was dated the day after Christine had left. Although the words were warm and loving, it made no mention of his proposal. Surely if she had received it, she would have mentioned it. _She must have sent this before she reached La Scala_, he thought.

On one hand, he was disappointed, knowing he would have to wait at least another day to hear her answer. On the other, though, he couldn't help but smile at how much she seemed to genuinely miss him and how understanding she had been about his absence at her departure. He thought of her on the stage of La Scala in front of an entire adoring audience, but singing just for him and his heart soared. Her words of love left him no doubt that she would accept his proposal as soon as she received it. All that remained were the arrangements, and then Christine would be his wife at last.

When Erik appeared upstairs with the breakfast tray promptly at 9:00, as had become the routine, he had a noticeable lightness to his step and an expression closely resembling a smile on his face. Nadir noticed the change immediately.

"You have heard from Christine," he stated knowingly as he accepted the tray. "She has accepted then?"

Erik's face fell a bit, but he replied cheerfully, "Not yet. But I did receive a letter from her. I believe she sent it before she received my proposal."

Nadir chuckled. "Well it has obviously bolstered your confidence. Up until today, you have been stalking about like an old bear." He dug into his omelets with his usual vigor. With the aid of Erik's fine cooking, he was beginning to regain his strength and add some much needed breadth to his thin frame.

Erik was encouraged to see his friend looking so greatly improved. He intended to do all that he could to aid the Daroga in his recovery. After all, he owed the man a great deal and sincerely valued his friendship. But he had to admit he was also anxious to have the Persian return to health quickly so that he might be able to attend Christine's first performance at La Scala. It was only a few weeks away.

He was already aching for her in her absence. His bed still smelled of lavender and he missed her soft, warm body in his arms and long curls spread out across his chest in the morning sunshine. He had spent every evening in their usual spot watching the stars appear, but somehow they seemed only stars without her presence beside him. Everything lost its magic without Christine.

Besides, he knew she would want him there with her for her debut. She would be nervous, but she had always trusted his opinion of her abilities. His faith in her seemed to help her find faith in herself. Despite everything else between them, he had been her teacher first and when she sang, that special bond remained. As he watched Nadir eat with the enthusiasm of a growing boy, Erik felt confident his friend's health would return sufficiently in time for him to see Christine by opening night.

At last, Nadir set his tray aside. "How about a game of chess, my friend? It will help to pass the time for both of us?"

Erik nodded and retrieved the board and pieces from the desk. After all, there was nothing else to do but wait. He sighed. Patience had never been his strongest suit.

Christine returned from rehearsals with a smile on her face. Everyone had been very kind and accepting of her from the moment she had walked onto the stage. She had already met one girl, a tiny blonde ballerina named Marguerite, who reminded her very much of Meg. The two had become fast friends, despite the disproving looks of a few of the senior cast members at a ballerina's boldness in approaching a prima donna. She had agreed to meet Marguerite for lunch tomorrow after rehearsals and was sincerely looking forward to an opportunity for some female companionship.

And then of course, there was her wonderful secret. She wasn't certain, it was true, as she had never been pregnant before, but still her heart soared at the idea. She was humming cheerfully as she entered her room, but her expression of joy was quickly replaced by distaste.

"Greetings, my dear. You seem in a particularly good mood this morning. Have you come to your senses at last and realized your good fortune that I am willing to forgive your indiscretions and accept you once again as my wife." He was sitting on the divan, ridiculously overdressed for an afternoon visit, and wearing a look of smug confidence that made her want to slap him again. But if she were to attempt to appeal to his kinder feelings toward her, she realized she could not afford to anger him, nor allow her utter disgust for him show.

"Good afternoon, Raoul. Prompt as usual. Quite a lovely day outside, isn't it?" She seated herself across from him, smiling pleasantly, as if truly enjoying his company.

Raoul seemed surprised at her welcoming demeanor, but he appeared to relax slightly. "I have come to be certain you keep up your end of the bargain. There is the matter of the ring..." He looked uncomfortable at its prominent position on her left hand.

"Raoul, before we discuss that, I need a chance to speak with you about the past...and the future." She reached forward and took his hand, relying on every acting skill she had ever possessed to keep herself from recoiling at his touch.

She stroked it lightly with her thumb as she spoke, her eyes wide, and she hoped, sincere looking. "Raoul darling, I am so sorry for how I have hurt you in the past. I know I have wounded you deeply. You were a devoted, loving husband and I dishonored you with my unfaithful heart. Please forgive me." It nearly killed her to speak the words, and by the end, she had to whisper them through painfully clenched teeth, but still, she was proud of her effort. Her smile did not waver in the slightest.

Raoul looked shocked at her sudden plea for forgiveness and his face softened noticeably. He still loved her beyond all reason, and he could not stop the eager bud of hope that began to blossom in his chest. "Christine, I am sorry if I was insensitive last night. It is just that I have missed you so..." He laid his other hand atop of hers and brought hers to his lips.

Christine fought the urge to resist, reminding herself that this Raoul was one she could reason with. She could not waste this opportunity. "Raoul, you know I will always care for you. You were my dearest childhood friend and my husband for six years. I will never forget that."

He smiled, looking like a little boy who had just been promised ice cream. Christine struggled not to roll her eyes with impatience. "But you see, so much has happened over the last two years, I can hardly expect you to take me back now."

Raoul's smile faded a bit. "I don't understand, Christine, I have told you that I have forgiven you for everything. And I meant it."

Christine gave a sad smile, hoping she appeared deeply repentant. "Raoul, I am very sorry. I cannot marry you. I must marry Erik now. I am carrying his child."

The news seemed to strike him like a blow to the face. His head fell into his hands and he appeared suddenly weakened. Christine felt the beginnings of relief. She was certain he would never accept her while she harbored Erik's child. But when he raised his eyes, they were burning with a fresh fire of renewed hatred.

"His child," he whispered in a deadened voice, "You are carrying _his_ child. After all the years I hoped and prayed for a son with you. And now, in a matter of weeks with that creature, you blossom like a flower under his bloody hands," he snarled the last words. and Christine unconsciously drew back.

He sprung from the divan and grasped her by the arm, dragging her roughly to her dressing table.

"Write the letter," he hissed.

Christine merely stared at him. This was a side of Raoul she had never seen before. She was both saddened and frightened by the sudden change in his demeanor from the cheerful gentle friend of her youth to a desperate, violent man. Her hands were shaking as she withdrew a few sheets of paper and a quill.

Raoul pulled a chair up beside her, his voice an obvious threat. "Let me warn you, Christine, that I intend to read every word and see that it is delivered myself. Do not forget that I have only to say the word and your lover will be dead. "

She nodded mutely and paused. What on earth could she say? After her previous letter, Erik would never understand her sudden change of heart.

All at once, she had an idea. Keeping her voice soft and complacent, she asked timidly, "Might I tell him that you and I are planning to be married? After all, I have to give him some explanation."

She held her breath. Erik knew enough of her and Raoul's past to know she would never willingly marry him after the disaster of their first marriage. That information in combination with the love letter she had sent him on her second day in Milan should be enough for him to suspect something was wrong and come to find her. Raoul was indeed naive to think that Erik would let her go so easily. She fervently hoped that his jealousy and crazed desire to wound Erik would continue to cloud his reason and that he would foolishly grant her request.

Raoul thought for a moment. "Yes, I think that would be quite fitting. Let him think you are running off with me. That would explain your refusal quite nicely and most likely anger him sufficiently to keep him from coming after you as well." He looked supremely pleased with himself, as if it had been his own idea and he was imagining the look on Erik's face when he read it.

Keeping her face entirely expressionless, Christine began to write. When she was finished, Raoul quickly read through it, smiling with obvious delight at the pain it would no doubt cause his rival.

"Very good, my dear. It was genius to mention our intention to start a family as soon as possible. Then when our son is born, that monster will have no suspicion that the child might have been his." He tucked the letter back into the envelope and placed it in his jacket pocket.

As he turned to leave, Christine let out a silent sigh of relief. At least she had warned Erik and had hopefully bought them some time.

As Raoul moved towards the door, he turned back. "By the way, I have decided that it is not wise for us to remain in Florence any longer than is absolutely necessary, though I have not forgotten my promise to allow you to sing. You will sing at the opening performance in two weeks' time. Then, you will inform the manager of your condition, and regretfully request to be released from your employment so that you may rest while we await the birth of our first born."

Christine looked at him in horrified shock.

"Perhaps Fate is finally repaying me for all the pain that miserable man has caused me. I will have my heir at last and he will never know of his. Poetic justice, don't you think?" He did not wait for her answer, but stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, Erik sat awaiting the post on the portico bench as usual. His anticipation was especially high now that he had received Christine's first note, and he found he had a hard time sitting still. When the postman arrived, he simply grabbed the letters from him, forgetting to thank him entirely. Seeing her familiar neat hand, he grinned widely, taking the letter into the house to read at the kitchen table. He tore it open impatiently, and spread it out before him on the table.

His eager grin gradually came to be replaced by confused disbelief as he read. His hands shaking, he carefully turned the envelope upside down and shook it. A platinum band encircled with diamonds fell out into his hand. He stared at it for a moment as it glittered mockingly from his palm. How could he have been so wrong? How could she do this to him all over again? His mind reeled and he felt as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach.

Erik overturned the table violently as he stood, his pain fueling his anger. "Once again I lay my heart out for her only to have her trample on it for the sake of that miserable boy. Never again," he raged, "NEVER AGAIN!" At his last words, Erik threw the ring out the open window and stalked out the front door, shattering a vase of flowers and a picture from the wall with the force of its resounding slam behind him.

Hearing the commotion downstairs, Nadir made his way down as quickly as he could to investigate. When he reached the kitchen, he saw the wreckage of Erik's apparent wrath scattered all around the kitchen. He wondered what on earth had made Erik lose his temper so.

Looking down at the floor, he spotted a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing the wrinkles from it, he read in disbelief:

_Dear Erik,_

_I am afraid that recent events have compelled me to refuse your proposal and thus, to return your ring. Raoul has come back to me, you see, and he has asked me to once again be his wife. I have no choice but to accept his offer. He and I have a great deal of history together, as you well know, and we will be starting a family very soon. Know only that I do this now to spare you any further pain. _

_Please forgive me. _

_Christine _

Nadir closed his eyes in sympathy for his wounded friend. Christine had no idea the damage she had done.

Or did she? Looking down at the last line, he pondered her words. "_Know only that I do this now to spare you any further pain." _It seemed as if she was attempting to make Erik understand something beyond her words. In fact, when he reread the entire letter, he realized that the whole thing seemed awkwardly written, as if someone had been reading over her shoulder. And the very idea of Christine returning willingly to Raoul seemed to his mind ludicrous after how desperate she had been to be free of him and find Erik in the past. Nadir remembered the look on Christine's face the day she left for Milan. _"There is nothing more important to me in this world than Erik," _she had told him. Her eyes had held no doubt and no deception.

Nadir's forehead wrinkled in thought. No, this whole thing made no sense at all. And once Erik calmed sufficiently, he would see that as well. Nadir would be certain of it.


	25. The Phantom's Return

**A/N:** Okay, before we begin this chapter, let's get two thoughts that we all share out in the open right away.

First of all, no, Erik is not stupid, but he tends to get angry first and ask questions later. He will figure it out, don't worry. But he may not come to the conclusion you all would hope right away.

Secondly, let's all give a great resounding chorus of belly laughter for the fact that the de Chagny boys are sterile. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAH Is it not hilarious that R had 6 years of trying and it only took E like one day? E's masculinity will not be denied. Hee Hee Hee. I love humiliating the girly man! Inbreeding, it will do it every time.

phantomann: That mother-in-law must really be requiring all your attention. Both you and Lisa abandoned me on this one. Some loyal reviewers you two are. Hmph!

A.Morton: Thank you. Welcome to the fic. I suppose we could castrate Raoul, but then, would anyone really notice the difference? I mean, after all, he already looks and speaks like a girl and is sterile, so what more can you take from the guy? He never had much masculinity in the first place. Erik is sort of hogging it all. And yes, E will go rushing after C, but perhaps not in the way you might hope...

AngelOfMusic387: Welcome aboard. Thanks for the kind words. And don't worry. I am more than accustomed with my fans' frustration when the plot doesn't twist their way. I thrive on it, in case you haven't noticed. Stay tuned for more angst!

Feri-san: Wow, another reader hailing from a different country! I am honored. Thank you for the many compliments, and I am pleased you are enjoying my attempts. So, do you think it is living up to its angsty billing then, or do you need some more? If you like angst, you will love this installment. Bwooohahahah!

Roses Of The Winter: Lovely screen name, BTW. So, you are saying you would take E up on his offer then, eh? Hee Hee. So would most of us here.

Aislynne: Don't die, for Pete's sake! Then you will never know what happens. It is so nice to meet another fellow pseudo GB stalker. Jema Moda and phantomann and I are starting a club for those of us who love our Gerry addiction. Thanks for the review!

Mz. Kelsi: Your optimism and faith in my willingness to provide you with a happy ending are admirable, though not entirely justified by my past deeds. I hope I will not let you down, but I can't guarantee anything...

Captain Oblivious: Great, just great. You killed the fop. Now you are going to have to go down there, scrape him off the Paris sidewalk, and resuscitate him. I NEED HIM for further chapters. Besides, would you really deprive E of the joy of killing him after all R has done? Now get going with the putty knife and the heart paddles. Chop, Chop!

Kagome 1514: Yay! Another angst lover. You will like this one then. I will get to LOM, as soon as I finish this one, I promise.

Mystic Darkness: Glad you liked the turn of events. Yes, R is indeed a b$sad. Isn't he? But at least we know there will never be any little miniature versions of him running around! Hee Hee Hee

Twinkle22: Thank you, thank you. I don't think this chapter will heal you of your heart condition, however. You may want to sit down...

dramatic-singer: How happy of an ending does it have to be? If maybe one person is happy, would that be enough for you, even if it isn't E? As I said before, I believe in happy endings, but I can't guarantee one for this particular fic. Nor will I guarantee that it won't be happy. Aren't I helpful?

Pertie: Hook is not set yet, huh? Hmmmm. I will just have to make things a bit more interesting then. Check out the title of this chapter.

draegon-fire: I actually don't think C had thought of N reading the letter, but he is sort of their little cupid, isn't he? He is always straightening out their numerous misunderstandings because his judgment isn't clouded by intense emotion.

The Divine Miss M: Hee Hee. You caught on to my inbreeding reference. E will elaborate on that greatly in this chapter. Aren't I mean to the fop? He never really did strike me as a particularly virile man anyway. And don't worry. This one is nearing the end rapidly, probably 5 to 10 more chapters to go, depending on how I decide to do it.

lafemme540: Now that was much better. No hint of sympathy for the fop at all. You have come over completely to the dark side. Welcome.

erikfan: Not once he calms down, of course. But he is a bit of a hothead. And he may not come to the conclusion we want him to, either. Read and find out more.

LiltingBanshee: Will Erik rush after Christine? Will Nadir make it in time? I can't tell you. Sorry. Stay tuned.

Ophelia-Rose: It doesn't seem necessary to neuter the fop, since he is ahem incapable of reproducing anyway. (Tee hee hee – What a girly man!) But it would be fun! Let's leave it up to E to decide his punishment, shall we?

XCiel: Awwww! Erik, Jr. – I bet he will grow up to be a hottie just like daddy. Wait. What if it is a miniature C? Never know what your crazy author might do next. And yes, E is a genius, but he hasn't had a lot of dealings with people, and he has never been in love before. His emotions always get the best of him, at least initially. But he is no dummy.

xo-little-lotte-xo: Thanks for all the compliments. We did miss you last chapter, but we are glad to have you back. I like the "whack-a-fop" idea. We could make it into one of those arcade games like the one where you bop a gopher when it pops up. If we used R's head instead of a gopher's, we could make a fortune. All the people reading this fic would be lining up for blocks.

MadameOG: I agree. R is definitely a $#&. You are the only one who seemed to notice that the ring is now unaccounted for. Will someone find it? Wait and see. Hee Hee

darklady5289: Ouch, that sounds painful. Try using the various symbol keys in your reviews concerning the fop to avoid further mom confrontations. And yes, a baby is on the way, if our heroine can survive E's wrath, at least.

eternalcelestial: Thank you dear. Yes, a baby on the way. A tiny E or a tiny C? I will never tell. Stay tuned.

xxphantomphanessxx: NO HEART ATTACKS! PLEASE. I don't need any lawsuits. I am poor enough. And please don't slap the hottie. He can't help himself. His mojo is just too powerful and must be shared with the world.

Hearts Aflame: Glad you liked it. "Stupid foppish pansy" – Can I quote you on that?

JemaModa: You, young lady, are slacking. Both you and Ann forgot me on this one. I suppose it is all those other fics you are reading. Your unfaithfulness is disturbing. I may have to withhold further Gerry pics from you as punishment. And BTW, when I said you didn't HAVE to review every chapter, I didn't really MEAN it!

**Ch. 25 – The Phantom's Return**

Erik sat on the hillside overlooking the city with his head in his hands. Darkness had fallen and tonight the stars were hidden from his view entirely by thick, heavy clouds. At last, he lifted his dark head and wiped the tears from his eyes. His anger had faded, leaving him with an empty, hopeless feeling inside. He had been so close to happiness and a real life this time. But once again, he was all alone.

Staring out into the darkness at the blurred lights of Florence beneath the overhanging fog, Erik thought back over the past two weeks, wondering where he had gone wrong. Christine had seemed so content here with him, so sincere in her words of love. She could be indecisive at times, that was certainly true. But to change her mind so drastically in the span of one day between her two contrasting letters seemed unlikely. Perhaps she had been planning to leave him for some time but had waited until she was away to tell him because she had been afraid of his reaction. That seemed entirely possible, given his past history of violence.

Erik sighed. But then why send the first letter, expressing her love and her longing for him in his absence? If she truly wanted to be rid of him, why would she raise his hopes in such a way, only to shatter them the next morning? Perhaps there was a clue to her change of heart contained somewhere in the second letter.

Erik felt his pockets for it, but then remembered he had crumpled it and left it on the floor of the villa. It hardly mattered. The cruel words were etched into his heart forever. Closing his mind to the accompanying pain for the purpose of rational thought, he allowed them to replay in his mind.

"_I have no choice but to accept his offer..." _That was certainly an odd way to describe one's acceptance to a proposal of marriage, but perhaps she was simply referring to the more acceptable life the vicomte could provide for her.

The next words echoed through his mind. He knew they would haunt him for the rest of his life. "_He and I have a great deal of history together, as you well know, and we will be starting a family very soon..." _Erik winced at the words. That sentence had been the dagger that had cut him to the quick. The thought of Christine's past with Raoul was difficult enough, but to think of her in that miserable fop's bed, with his child quickening in her womb made him feel sick.

Why would she wish to wound him so? Her words seemed cruel and heartless given the past two weeks. He and Christine had made love countless times throughout their brief time together. Secretly, he had hoped that perhaps they had already conceived a child of their own. It made no sense for her to share this information with him now, when she knew it would hurt him the most.

Was she angry with him somehow? No, her words of the first letter seemed to prove that she wasn't. Erik's head ached with the difficulty of trying to unravel the complexities of Christine's fickle mind and heart.

Again, though it pained him greatly, he pondered her words, wanting desperately to understand. "_He and I have a great deal of history together, as you well know..." _This statement truly puzzled him. From all Christine had shared with him, she and Raoul's relationship after the opera fire had not been particularly pleasant. She had described her marriage as a complete disaster and it had been she who had sought in the end to have it dissolved.

It didn't make any sense. Why would she return to the boy now, when she seemed happy and fulfilled at last. The vicomte would never allow her to continue her opera life, and Christine was at the height of her career.

"_...and we will be starting a family very soon. Know only that I do this now to spare you any further pain..." _Erik once again cringed at the words, but there was something about them nagging at him in the back of his mind.

Christine had told him that she had never once conceived during the six years of her marriage to the vicomte, though they had attempted many times to have children. It seemed presumptuous at best to expect a family immediately upon their reunion when Christine had never once before become pregnant during all of their past years together.

Christine had, of course, blamed herself for her inability to conceive, admitting to him her fear that she was barren. Though he had not shared his suspicions with her at the time, Erik had thought it more likely that it was the vicomte who was unable to sire a child. After all, the de Chagny family bloodline went back countless generations and great efforts had been undertaken over the years to preserve its purity, including numerous marriages between close relatives. It was not uncommon among the nobility for the males of an entire generation to become sterile as a result of such close breeding. As the comte had never to his knowledge sired any children either, it seemed reasonable that this was the case with the current generation of the de Chagny family.

_But if that is true, then how could she and the vicomte hope to..._

Suddenly the answer hit him like a ton of bricks.

_It isn't his child. It is mine. They intend to start a family with MY child._ _Christine is already pregnant._

Erik leapt to his feet, his frenzied anger driving his haste. He had been used. Played masterfully by the very actress he had helped to train. Christine had never cared for him. He had merely been a means to an end – in this case, a de Chagny heir. The pain of the realization felt like a stake through his heart, but at the moment, it was his thirst for revenge that drove him onward. He did not even bother to saddle Demon, but flung himself onto the beast's back and bolted down the road.

Nadir was still waiting inside the house for Erik, though night had fallen hours ago. His friend had been absent all day, never returning so that the Persian could share with him his suspicions regarding Christine's letter. When he heard the horse hooves pounding down the driveway, Nadir hurried to the window. He had a sinking feeling in his chest that his friend's eight year sabbatical from violence was at an end as he watched him thunder out into the night.

Sighing wearily, Nadir ignored the dull pain in his chest and went to fetch his traveling cloak.

Christine sat in a small cafe across from the opera house, sharing a delightful lunch with Marguerite for the second time in two days. Their friendship had blossomed into an easy confidence almost immediately. Christine found that in the girl's cheerful company she could forget the woes of her own life for a while. Marguerite was five years younger than she was, very kind and bright, and also wise beyond her years in the ways of the world.

Marguerite, in turn, felt as if Christine could have been her older sister. They had formed an immediate bond over the past few days and she felt as if they had been best friends for years. Watching her today, however, she sensed that something was troubling her friend behind her gentle smile. Marguerite had also noticed Christine's increasingly bland diet and the queasy look on her face whenever she tasted her food.

Deciding to take a chance, Marguerite reached across the table to take the older woman's hand. "Christine, do you mind if I ask you something? I promise that however you answer, I will tell no one."

Christine looked momentarily wary, but nodded. "Of course, Marguerite."

"You have hardly touched your food, and you seem to have a certain light to your face. Is it possible that you are with child?" Marguerite's gentle green eyes sought Christine's, patiently awaiting her reply.

Christine did not answer for a moment. In truth, she was bursting to tell someone of her secret. She was so very proud to be carrying Erik's child. And the only one she had thus far been able to tell was his most hated rival, who now planned to use the information against him.

She searched Marguerite's face, but saw no ulterior motive, nothing outside of friendly concern. A smile slowly spread across Christine's face. "Yes. I believe I am," she whispered in a confiding tone. "And I am so very happy, Marguerite. You have no idea how much joy this would bring me if only..." Her smile faded abruptly and she caught herself.

Marguerite noticed at once her troubled look. "What is it, Christine? Why does carrying this child not bring you the joy that it should? Are you all right? Is there something amiss in your pregnancy?"

"No, no. Everything is fine, at least as far as I know." She looked down at her hands. "It is just that the circumstances I now find myself in are less than ideal." Christine's gaze fell upon the bare fourth finger of her left hand.

Marguerite was watching her closely, and noted her gaze. There was no wedding ring on the woman's finger. And yet, she was certain Christine had been introduced to the cast as "Signora de Renoir". Still, she kept her suppositions to herself, not wanting to offend or embarrass her new friend. Instead, she chose the safest response to Christine's admission.

"Of course, your position here at La Scala. What will you do?"

Christine sighed. "I hope to stay on for a time until Rao...I mean until my condition forces me to resign." The tiny brunette looked crestfallen at the though, as if it were not her wish to relinquish her place as prima donna, but someone else's.

Marguerite thought back to the conversation she had unwittingly overheard between Christine and the man she had supposed to be her husband two days earlier. She had been walking by the prima donna's dressing room, just as the door had opened and a rather overdressed gentleman emerged. As he stepped out into the corridor, he had snarled something angrily over his shoulder back into the room. She had stepped immediately into the shadows, not wanting to be accused of eavesdropping.

She remembered clearly the curious words he had spoken.

"_Perhaps Fate is finally repaying me for all the pain that miserable man has caused me. I will have my heir at last and he will never know of his. Poetic justice, don't you think?"_

At first, they had made little sense, but as she considered them now in light of all that Christine had shared with her, she began to wonder if there was not another man involved in her dilemma, someone other than her husband. After all, it was hardly uncommon for a prima donna to take a lover, even if she was married. Perhaps Christine had done so while her husband had been away for some reason. If the child were to be that of another man, especially a lover whom Christine was being denied contact with by her husband, that would explain her conflicting joy at the pregnancy and sorrow at the circumstances surrounding it.

Marguerite sighed at the poetic beauty and tragedy of her theory. She wondered if she was right. She was a hopeless romantic and the idea of Christine pining for the father of her child was tragic beyond belief. Perhaps she could help Christine to overcome all the obstacles between her and her lost love.

"Christine, the man who was coming out of your dressing room...Is he your husband?" Marguerite asked gently.

Christine glanced up. She trusted this woman. And she was being crushed by the weight of her burdens alone. Would it really hurt to tell one person something of her situation? Of course there was always the possibility that Marguerite would tell the others in the opera house, but did her personal or professional reputation really matter anymore? After all, she would only be singing one night under the roof of La Scala and then would be returning to France for a quiet life as a vicomtesse under a different name. Her opera life was most likely over.

She felt the tears spring to her eyes. The last few days had been hell, and she had no one to confide in. For most of her life, she had had Erik in one capacity or another, but after her letter refusing his proposal, she was no longer certain he would ever speak to her again, not that she could blame him. Her confidence that he would sense something amiss in her words had waned, especially when she considered how upset he would be upon having his ring returned to him for the second time. He most likely thought she had toyed with his emotions once again and would be far too angry to take the time to find any hidden meaning at all.

She felt so alone in her predicament. She hated Raoul for what he was doing to Erik and to her. She would confide nothing to him unless absolutely forced to. So who did that leave her with?

She lifted her soft, lovely brown eyes to the young ballerina's honest face. "I trust you, Marguerite, so I am going to tell you a story, one that no one else in the world except me knows the entirety of. Parts of it may shock you, and you may never look at me the same way again," she lowered her eyes, but continued on. "However, I find the burden of it rests heavy on me and I long to share it with someone. Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard the tale of the Phantom of the Opera?"

An hour later, Marguerite walked Christine back to her dressing room to ready herself for afternoon rehearsals. After all that she had heard, she was still somewhat stunned. Christine's story had been far more painful and bittersweet than she ever could have guessed, and she had been deeply touched by it. As a result, she had been quiet for most of the walk back to the opera house. Christine's revelations had not caused Marguerite to see her as any less of a woman, quite the opposite in fact. She was amazed by her strength and determination to survive such hardships and still be where she was today.

When they reached the dressing room door, Marguerite took in Christine's lovely, fragile face and reached out to pull her into a warm, reassuring embrace. "Do not worry, Christine, all will be made right in the end. Everything will turn out as it should. I am sure your dashing Erik will be here to rescue you any moment, like a prince in a fairytale." She released Christine with a kind smile. "I had best go and find my things for rehearsal. See you there," she called cheerfully as she headed quickly down the long lavish corridor toward the ballerina dormitories.

Christine watched her stepping lightly down the hall, so assured that Fate would be kind. She, in turn, was rapidly losing her faith in Fortune's charity. She felt instead as a helpless puppet being pulled about by the strings of Destiny's every whim. And as for Erik riding in to save the day, well, perhaps he had rescued this damsel from her self-inflicted distress one too many times already.

Christine turned to enter her room, then thought better of it and headed with a heavy heart toward rehearsals. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with Raoul if he decided to show up today. Perhaps singing would lift her spirits. Verdi's latest opera was an inspired piece and the anguished role of Donna Leonora seemed to speak directly to her life. When she arrived onstage, she retrieved her music and glanced again at the familiar title - _La Forza del Destino. _It could just as well be the title of her own autobiography, she thought with a grimace.

As she moved to her position on stage, her stomach gave a rebellious turn at the meager lunch she had only recently ingested. The bout of nausea passed quickly, and she touched a hand to her abdomen, smiling unconsciously despite her discomfort. No matter what the rest of her life turned out to be, she had a part of Erik living inside of her. Half of his beautiful artistic soul would live on in their child. No misfortune on earth could ever take that knowledge from her. Christine's hand came to rest protectively over her tiny gift and she said a silent prayer that God be more merciful to her child than He had been to either of the babe's parents.

Unbeknownst to her, a silent shadow watched from the rafters above the stage. The movement of her hand and her secret smile had not gone unnoticed. And her treachery would not go unpunished.


	26. A Desperate Flight

**A/N:** I apologize for the long wait. I think there will only be one more chapter to go, the way things are looking, perhaps two. I will let you know when we have reached the end of our journey either way.

I apologize for not including my usual review replies. I recently received an email telling me that is no longer allowing them. I do not know for sure if this is true, but the possible penalties were described as suspension from the site or having your story removed. I knew we were nearing the climax of our story, and I don't want to deprive you of the ending, so I will with great grumbling, refrain from my usual replies. Just know how much I appreciate each and every review. I have sincerely enjoyed our many conversations. And please continue to review. I still love reading them, even if I can't reply to each of you directly as I might wish. Anyway, you have waited long enough. On with the story...

**Ch. 26 – A Desperate Flight**

Rehearsal that afternoon was the longest Christine had endured so far. Signor Giraldi was a genius, but the conductor was also a perfectionist, pushing the cast to greater and greater heights until he was at last satisfied, and then moving immediately on to the next piece. Christine was exhausted. Her pregnancy seemed to be sapping her strength and she found her mind wandering during Giraldi's longwinded reprimands of her tenor counterpart.

After her conversation with Marguerite earlier, she had once again been thinking about how she could somehow explain things to Erik. If he had understood her hidden meaning in the letter, he would surely have arrived by now. Perhaps she could send him another letter secretly. This thought died in her mind, however, when she locked eyes with a familiar short stocky man leering at her from the corner of the stage.

Marguerite had told her the man was a stage hand, but Christine had noticed him watching her unusually closely over the past few days. Every time she turned her head she seemed to see him watching her no matter where she went. She might never have thought anything of it, for she was quite accustomed to receiving regarding glances. But when she had seen the man for the second time in as many days at a corner table in the cafe where she and Marguerite had been having lunch, she came to realize it was not by coincidence. She had no doubt now that Raoul was paying the man to keep an eye on her and to report to him if she made any attempts to flee or to warn Erik in any way of her plight. The idea of a letter under such circumstances would be far too dangerous. She couldn't risk Raoul finding out she had violated their agreement and sending Jacques and his thugs after Erik while he as of yet remained unaware of the danger. Her resolve to fight for their love remained strong, but she was not willing to chance Erik's life in order to do it.

She continued to consider her options. Perhaps she could escape in the night from the window of her dressing room. She had already given up all hope of ever singing again at La Scala. Either Raoul would take her away or the scandal of her life would break forth and force her to resign. And anyway that dream was becoming more and more insignificant in her mind. All she really cared about anymore was finding Erik, making certain he was safe, and raising their child together as husband and wife. Yes, she decided, her best chance would be to escape and warn Erik herself. By the time anyone noticed her absence, she would be in his arms and together they would decide what to do. Resolved, she launched into her aria on cue, singing with newfound joy at the thought of being reunited with Erik even for a moment.

The dark figure watching from the rafters above could not help but soften at the sound of her angelic voice. His grip on the rope loosened slightly and he wavered. Looking at the tiny figure below on stage, he realized that no matter what Christine had done, he could never hurt her. In his blind rage, he had wanted her to pay dearly for the pain she had once again inflicted upon him so cruelly. But staring down at her now and knowing she carried his child inside of her, he realized that if he harmed her he could just as well turn the rope to himself, for the guilt and sorrow of it would surely kill him.

Tears filled his eyes. Perhaps that would be best in the end for everyone. He would be free of his misery and she and the child would be free of him. He dropped his Punjab lasso in disgust, leaving it there in the rafters. No matter what he had done in the past, he could never kill the woman he loved, nor his own child. He was not that manner of monster. But neither could he live with the knowledge that another man had stolen his only chance at having a family.

Erik had made up his mind. He would disappear and he would end his miserable excuse for a life once and for all. He would leave no trace that the Phantom ever existed or Erik de Renoir for that matter, as he was really neither man anymore.

Christine was just finishing her aria when Marguerite tugged at her arm urgently.

"What is it?" Christine whispered.

Marguerite looked upset. "Christine, the vicomte is here. They are loading your trunks from the dressing room into a carriage outside," she whispered.

Christine looked stunned. "Why?"

"I do not know. But I did hear the vicomte talking to a dark-haired man just outside your room. He said, "We can delay no longer. Christine must leave immediately." After that, they started bringing out your things and the vicomte left to speak to Signor Romando about your immediate resignation." Marguerite paused to catch her breath.

Christine's mind was racing. Raoul would be here any minute to take her away to France and then what would she do? She hadn't planned on leaving until nightfall, but with this new development, she realized it was now or never. She had to escape.

Christine thought for a moment, and then signaled to Signor Giraldi. "Signor, I am not feeling well. Do you mind if I take a short rest?"

Signor Giraldi graciously extended his arm in assent. "Of course, signora, your voice is perfection. Now Signor Renault, on the other hand..." He once again launched into another of his long reprimands and Christine seized her chance.

Dragging Marguerite by the arm, she pulled her as far away from the stocky man on the other end of the stage as she could manage. "Marguerite, is there any other way out of the opera house? A back way, where no one would see me?"

Marguerite looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes. Back down the hallway to the dormitories. There is braided rug, and underneath a trap door and a hidden tunnel. The ballet rats use it to sneak out and meet their suitors after the ballet mistress is in bed. It will lead you into the alleyway behind La Scala. Take my cloak. It is hanging in the hallway. The train station where you arrived is about a mile northwest."

Christine looked surprised at the girl's willingness to help without question, but she silently thanked her lucky stars for such a clever and resourceful friend.

"Marguerite, there is one more thing I must ask of you before I leave." She whispered something in the girl's ear and Marguerite gave a sour look, but nodded.

"Will you let me know you are alright?" she asked quietly.

Christine felt saddened that she would be leaving another good friend, but she had not time to dwell on it at the moment. She laid a hand on the girl's arm. "Thank you, Marguerite, for everything and I will write to you as soon as I can."

Christine smiled sweetly to the conductor and sat down, taking a chair very near to the rear stage door. Marguerite, meanwhile, made her way casually over toward the stocky stage hand on the other side of the stage. She made an elaborate show out of stretching rather suggestively right in front of him and then assured she had his attention, struck up a lively conversation, flirting shamelessly. When Christine was certain that the man was otherwise occupied, she at once slipped silently out the door.

Erik had caught the exchange just as he had been preparing to leave. He watched the ruse below him with a puzzled expression and noticed Christine slip out the door. He turned to follow her, but heard a commotion behind him on the opposite side of the stage.

_The Vicomte_

Erik's eyes narrowed and he stepped back over to retrieve his Punjab lasso. Perhaps he would have use for it after all.

"Signor, I am the husband of Signora de Renoir and I am afraid I will not allow her to continue in this production in her condition. We are expecting a child, you see and..." Raoul looked around, as if just noticing that Christine was not there.

Signor Giraldi looked startled, but he found his voice. "But Signor, the production, it begins in less than two weeks. Wherever will we find anoth..."

Raoul made a gesture of impatience. "Signor that is not my problem. My wife is my concern. No where is she?" He looked about him expectantly at the many faces.

Marguerite stepped forward. "She was not feeling well, Signor. I believe she headed back to her dressing room to rest. You must have just missed her." She did not waver under his suspicious stare.

Raoul nodded and turned on his heel, a number of armed men following him back down the hall the same way they had come. Marguerite released a deep breath of relief. Christine had gone the opposite direction. With any luck, she would be on the train before the vicomte's men could make a thorough search of the extensive opera house.

Erik did not even wait for the vicomte to finish his questioning of the cast. He was already making his way easily through the maze of rafters, moving quickly like a jungle cat in the same direction Christine had gone. His dark figure disappeared down the long hallway.

Marguerite followed the vicomte and his men out into the opposite hall. She watched him enter Christine's dressing room and then emerge moments later with a look of noticeable concern on his face. He immediately motioned to one of the men. "Find her. Search the building. If there are any passageways, or rooms that are hidden beneath the main levels, search those first." The man nodded and the group dispersed weapons at the ready.

One man remained behind. It was the same dark-haired, sunken faced man she had observed talking to the vicomte moments before. Marguerite slipped closer, flattening herself up against the wall so as not to be seen. She had to know what they were up to.

"It was wise of you to hasten your departure, Vicomte. I am sure you see now why I felt it necessary to alert you of the Comte de Renoir's arrival in Milan. And I am certain you will agree under the circumstances that promise or no, you must allow me to dispose of him."

Raoul nodded. "Indeed Jacques, I should have listened to you from the beginning. Once Christine is in my possession, feel free to exact any punishment that you feel appropriate on our mutual friend. He has been a thorn in my side for far too long."

Jacques grinned, an evil glint coloring his eyes at the thought of his long awaited revenge. "Perhaps you and I should join in the search, Vicomte. We would not wish for either of them to escape." He withdrew from his belt a pistol and a long knife.

Raoul looked a bit pale, but drew his own pistol as well. "Indeed. If I know this creature, then he will find somewhere to hide, somewhere where he is at an advantage. He is cunning and quick and he moves without a sound. We must be prepared for him to be merciless. Shoot the moment you have clear aim, for he will not give you a second opportunity." The vicomte looked suddenly weary and old beyond his years. His eyes were determined, but empty, as if he harbored little hope his errand would meet with success. "We should consider ourselves very fortunate if we somehow manage to escape this encounter alive." His mouth set in a grim line, he turned and set off the down the hallway leading away from Christine's dressing room, Jacques following closely at his heels.

Marguerite took a deep breath, and tiptoed silently behind them in the shadows. She had to find a way to warn Christine.

Erik watched from behind a column as Christine tugged on a cloak and glanced around her fearfully before pulling aside the braided rug and lifting the heavy trap door. She disappeared beneath it, pausing only long enough to reach a hand up and pull the rug back over to conceal the route of her escape.

Erik waited a few moments, then disappeared beneath the trap door as well. He was starting to realize that something was not as he had originally surmised. Rather than running away with the vicomte, Christine seemed to be fleeing from him. He followed her stealthily down the dark passageway, leading into the bowels of the theatre. As soon as they reached a place where he could safely corner her without fear of her screaming, he intended to get the answers he was so desperately seeking.

Christine could see nothing at all in the blackness of the tunnel. She cursed her stupidity at not thinking to grab a candle from one of the dormitories. The cold stone was damp and she was afraid of stumbling and injuring herself or her baby. Finally, the passageway opened into a larger space. Squinting her eyes in the weak light, Christine realized she was in a large open room, filled with the hulking shadows of old sets and props from past productions. The only light was coming from a high grate in one wall where a bit of daylight managed to find its way into the gloom. She peered again into the darkness, searching in vain for the rest of the passageway that would lead her up to the street above. But to her dismay, she realized she could not see any passageway at all, other than the one she had come from. She must have missed a turn somewhere.

Christine turned quickly to retrace her steps, but felt herself bump into something solid and immediately a gloved hand captured her mouth. She attempted to scream in surprise as she was pulled tightly against her captor with her arms pinned at her sides, but a familiar scent at once met her senses.

_Erik!_

Christine leaned her head back against the reassuring wall of his chest and ceased to struggle. _Thank God!_ She thought wearily. Erik was here. She could explain her plight and all would be well at last.

When he felt her relax in his arms, Erik released the hand from her mouth and turned her to face him. Though the light was dim, he could see that there were tears in her eyes, and as he released his grip, instead of running from him, she threw her arms around his neck. "Oh Erik, I thought you wouldn't come. I thought you would hate me terribly and I would never be able to explain to you...I have missed you so much." She was sobbing against his chest now, and Erik stood in stunned disbelief.

He reached down to take her chin in his hand, tilting her tearstained face up to meet his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. "Christine, you do not wish to leave with the vicomte?"

Christine shook her head vehemently. "No, oh God Erik, no! He was here when I arrived at La Scala. He had a man named Jacques with him and he threatened to have you killed if I did not agree to return with him to France and marry him. I was watched at all times, and I had no way to warn you...I am so very sorry for the pain I must have caused you, Erik." Her hand reached up to touch his unmasked cheek. "There is nothing more I want on this earth than to be your wife," she said softly.

Erik felt tears on his own cheeks now. He laid his forehead against hers and they stood there like that for a moment, both reeling in disbelief at being in the other's arms once again. Erik suddenly remembered her secret smile at rehearsals. He lifted his head, and when her eyes met his once more, he asked quietly, "I have to ask you, Christine. Are you carrying our child?"

Christine nodded, fresh tears shining in her eyes. "Yes, Erik."

Erik felt his heart would leap from his chest. "And you were not planning on raising it as the de Chagny heir?" he asked cautiously.

Christine shook her head vehemently. "Raoul did. He thought it justice for my unfaithfulness and repayment for what he believed you had stolen from him. But I had already resolved that I would never allow your child to be brought up in his home. No matter what I would have had to do, I would have found a way to return to you."

Erik wrapped her lovingly in his arms, pulling her close. "I love you, Christine. I am so sorry I ever doubted you," he breathed the words into her hair. Relief and love washed over him, and he forgot for a moment the danger behind them.

But all at once, Erik heard the sound of far off footsteps from the direction of the passageway through which they had come. He pulled Christine back, out of the light from the grate above. Silently, he led her behind several large set pieces. Tucking her into an out of the way corner, he laid his cape over her and his eyes searched her face in the darkness. "Christine, we have been followed. I doubt they will show any mercy to me, but if it is your wish that I spare their lives, than I shall. If either of them makes any attempt to harm you and the child, however, I will dispose of that man mercilessly and without regret...and that includes the vicomte." He awaited her reaction, his eyes never leaving her face.

Finally, Christine looked up at him, her eyes sincere. "Erik, I would never think any less of you for defending your own life." She raised her hand to cup his cheek and kissed him tenderly. When she drew back at last, she held his eyes, "I love you, Erik. My concern is only for you and our child. Anyone who threatens our family deserves death...including the vicomte."

Erik nodded. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you, Christine, and our child. If anything should happen to me, Porto Dell' Angelo and everything I have is yours. I have seen to that long ago. Nadir is there. He is a good man, and he would help you to make a life for yourself and the child. Know always that I am with you, if not in body, then in spirit." At his words, Christine looked suddenly frightened. She had never heard Erik talk this way about dying before, and it unnerved her. She wanted to call him back and convince him to escape with her before any blood could be shed, but he had already disappeared into the darkness.

She closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest, praying with a fervor that she had never known before. _God, please protect Erik. Let him have a chance at happiness at last. Grant him the family he has never known. Forgive him his sins and watch over us in this hour of darkness._

She knew from past experience that she could not trust in Fate to deliver them. Now her only hope lay with God.


	27. Breath and Blood

**A/N:** Hello again, dear readers. Did you think I had forgotten you? I apologize for the length of time between posts. School has started once again, and as a third grade teacher, my busy season is upon me. To make it up to you, though, I will post this now and immediately go and write what will be our final chapter. I will post it before the weekend is over. Once again, thank you all for your kind words and encouragement. I sincerely miss our playful banter and I hope one day review replies will once again be allowed because they are so big a part of the fanfic experience. Since it has been so long since my last post, I am including the last couple of paragraphs from Ch. 26 so you can remember what is happening. Christine and Erik are in a dark room below La Scala where old scenery and props are stored. Erik has heard a sound from the tunnel behind them and is preparing to defend himself and his lady love from the threat. Raoul, Jacques, and Raoul's men are all searching the opera house for our two lovers.

On with the story...

**From the end Ch. 26:**

Erik nodded. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you, Christine, and our child. If anything should happen to me, Porto Dell' Angelo and everything I have is yours. I have seen to that long ago. Nadir is there. He is a good man, and he would help you to make a life for yourself and the child. Know always that I am with you, if not in body, then in spirit." At his words, Christine looked suddenly frightened. She had never heard Erik talk this way about dying before, and it unnerved her. She wanted to call him back and convince him to escape with her before any blood could be shed, but he had already disappeared into the darkness.

She closed her eyes and hugged her knees to her chest, praying with a fervor that she had never known before. _God, please protect Erik. Let him have a chance at happiness at last. Grant him the family he has never known. Forgive him his sins and watch over us in this hour of darkness._

She knew from past experience that she could not trust in Fate to deliver them. Now her only hope lay with God.

**Ch. 27 – Breath and Blood**

Erik crept through the shadows without a sound. He marveled inwardly at how very easy it was to become one with the darkness, even after so many years away. It embraced him readily as an old friend, beckoning his soul to surrender once more to its enticing call. He could feel every long dormant instinct awakening as he awaited his prey.

His hands lovingly caressed his neglected lasso. Somehow, even after all this time, his fingers still felt eerily confident around its length. In this world of darkness, he was no longer a mere man, but a king. He alone decided life and death. He alone knew all and yet revealed nothing. He felt the familiar heady awareness of power coursing through his veins and an unmistakable excitement at the imminence of a sweet revenge that he had been so long denied.

There was a dark corner just to the left of where the tunnel opened into the room. Erik positioned himself there in such a way so that any intruder would pass him unknowingly upon entering, conveniently allowing him to surprise the man from behind and end his life before he could sense the dark predator in the shadows.

Having found his point of attack, there was nothing now to do but wait. Erik thought briefly of Christine huddled on the other side of the room, out of sight. He was certain she was terrified, but there was no way for him to ease her fears. When he thought of how she had been treated by the vicomte, how the man had plotted to steal his child, his righteous anger burned within him, far hotter and deeper than any fury he had ever known. He ached to make this man suffer a brutal and torturous death, but for Christine's sake, he would make it quick and virtually painless – far more than the wretch deserved.

At last, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps further up the tunnel. His hearing was still unusually sharp, owing he supposed, to years spent in the gloom of the opera cellars where his sight had been of far less use. As he listened, he distinctly heard two sets of footfalls upon the stone of the tunnel floor.

Erik brought his lasso up to chest height. His best bet would be to dispose of Jacques first, for the vicomte would be far less of a threat. His mind made up, his lasso at the ready, he waited, every muscle contracted and poised to spring.

He could hear hushed voices now. Erik smirked at their foolishness. These two certainly made themselves easy targets.

_The fools, _he scoffed inwardly, g_ossiping like schoolgirls while on a hunt for the Phantom! _Erik resisted the urge to laugh at their stupidity. As they drew closer, he could just begin to make out their words.

There was a loud thump and one of the men swore loudly.

"Damn it! I am beginning to think the miserable freak isn't worth the trouble. That is the second time I have hit my head on these blasted low ceilings."

Erik recognized immediately the voice of Jacques, the traitor from the Swiss inn. He could just make out his shape, slightly in the lead of the pair. His heart leapt when he saw the vicomte only paces behind. He would have his opportunity for revenge at last. His grip tightened on the rope.

Jacques passed just inches away from his hiding spot in the hallway. But as Erik moved to strike, he heard the vicomte reply, his voice filled with disgust.

"Indeed. And my quarry is hardly worth more. After all, the lying wretch is willingly carrying the spawn of the devil himself in her womb. And why on earth would I wish to raise that monster's bastard child as a de Chagny? It was sheer insanity to consider it. The child will most likely be a demon like its father – ugly as sin outwardly and evil to the core within. It will be disposed of immediately following its birth. Even revenge is not worth the family name being brought so low."

All thoughts of his careful plan flew from Erik's mind at the overwhelming wave of pure unadulterated hatred that surged through his body at the vicomte's words. Without any further thought, he leapt from the shadows and before the vicomte heard the soft hiss of the rope through the air, the lasso was crushing his windpipe.

Erik took no notice of the other man disappearing into the shadows. His burning eyes were fixed on the vicomte's gasping form beneath his hands. He wrenched the man's collapsing form backwards against him, giving the noose a harsh twist that caused Raoul's eyes to bulge unnaturally from his aristocratic face. Erik jerked him roughly around and pulled the vicomte's face to within inches of his own. He removed his mask, forcing the beaten man to see with his last breath the triumphant face of his enemy.

"Perhaps you were right, good vicomte," Erik purred silkily into his ear. "You see me now as the devil on earth, but I tell you that I am a lamb compared to the devil in whose company you are about to spend eternity."

Raoul's face was turning an ashen shade of bluish-gray, and his eyes were losing focus, but terror forced him to claw and flail helplessly at his attacker. Erik's grin widened at the futility of his pathetic efforts. He watched with undisguised glee as the proud vicomte's last strength left him and he crumpled to the floor. Erik retained his grip on the noose, stooping down in front of his enemy's defeated form so that the dying man might carry the haunting image of his distorted face to the gates of Hades itself.

He gave the rope one final tug, bringing the vicomte's ear close to his mouth. "Ironic, isn't it vicomte, that in the end, this monster whom you hated and scoffed at every opportunity will not only outlive you, but have the love of the woman you most desire on earth and the child your pathetic manhood could never sire as well." Erik gave a cold laugh. "Perhaps God is more just than I once gave Him credit for." He placed one hand on either side of his hated enemy's skull, preparing to deliver the final death blow.

A tiny muffled sound from across the room, however, stopped him cold.

"Christine!"

Erik dropped the vicomte's lifeless body to the ground and leapt to his feet. On the other side of the room, in the dying light from the grate, he could just make out the tiny shape of Christine, struggling against Jacques's restraining arms. He could see the faintest glimmer of a pistol barrel pressed against her temple.

At Erik's sudden movement, Jacques cocked the pistol. At the sound of its ominous click, Erik stopped, not daring to move farther. He could hear Christine's frightened whimpers and his heart filled with fear.

The two men eyed each other through the gloom for a moment.

"What do you want?" Erik asked evenly. He had a fairly good idea what the man was after, but at this point, if an exchange of his life for Christine's could be arranged, Erik would take the offer in a heartbeat and consider it a gift. He had no concern for himself. Knowing Christine and the child were safe would be enough.

Jacques sneered. "I want your blood, of course monsieur, and my revenge. Ever since you left me in such a disadvantaged position at our last meeting, I must admit I have thought of little else."

Erik was relieved by his words. The man didn't sound the least bit interested in Christine.

Erik nodded towards her. "You let her go, and I give you my word, I will not resist you." His voice was smooth and he was surprisingly calm.

Christine immediately cried out, "No Erik, oh God no, please...You can't...You can't leave me like this!"

She dissolved into helpless tears, praying fervently for deliverance from the horror that she was watching unfold before her. If Erik were to be killed, she would surely go mad with grief. She would much rather end her life right now beside him.

"If you kill him, kill me too. Please, please...I beg you." She was sobbing and tugging on Jacques's arm, pleading with him for the most merciful outcome she could imagine from the current circumstances. Jacques looked down at her with vague surprise and disgust.

"Hush, Christine, think of your child!" Erik's voice was harsh, but Christine could hear the fear beneath.

"Our child! It is our child, Erik! And if you can abandon it, then so can I! I won't stay on this earth without you. I won't!" She was nearly hysterical, her voice wild with panic, but he knew from her tone, she would make good on her threat. After all, she had nearly succeeded in ending her life several times before. Erik's mind raced. His one hope would be to provoke Jacques somehow and attack him when he was not thinking clearly.

Jacques, meanwhile, was growing impatient with the emotional scene playing out before him and the weeping woman begging and clutching at his arm.

"Enough! Both of you!" He pushed Christine roughly away and closed in on Erik. The greedy gleam of certain vengeance burned openly in his eyes.

"Throw the rope over here," he commanded, his voice low and threatening.

Erik hesitated. "Promise me that you will let her go and never come near her again." He knew it would most likely be an empty promise, but if he were to die, he at least wanted the comfort of believing, however foolishly, that his sacrifice would buy some measure of safety for Christine and his child. Besides, he was stalling for time, looking for an opportunity to put Jacque off balance somehow.

Jacques laughed coldly. "I've no interest in your opera whore. With the money I will earn for this, I can buy a thousand of her."

Erik smirked at his greed. This, perhaps, was his chance. "You may find your promised fee difficult to collect, as your employer is no longer breathing." He waved a hand toward the vicomte's body sprawled motionless on the stone floor of the tunnel.

Jacques's eyes followed his gesture and he let out a scream of fury, "No. NO! My plan, all my work, everything – ruined! All because of YOU!"

With no further hesitation, he strode toward Erik, pistol aimed directly at his heart. Erik watched Jacques's hand on the gun, not moving a muscle until the last second just as the man's finger squeezed the trigger, when he dove to the floor. The loud report reverberated throughout the room, and the bullet ricocheted wildly off the far wall.

Christine screamed and covered her head with her hands.

Jacques seemed momentarily disoriented, but before he could react, Erik slipped the rope over his neck from behind, pulling with all his strength and no hesitation. The sickening snap of the man's neck echoed grotesquely through the cavernous room.

Then, all was suddenly quiet. Erik stood breathing heavily over the man's limp body, slightly dazed by the myriad of events that had taken place in the breadth of one short moment. He let out a sigh of relief.

_Christine._

He took two short steps towards her and she closed the remainder of the gap between them in a rush, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him madly.

"Erik, oh thank God you are all right. When I think of what could have happened..." she trailed off, her fear still so fresh in her mind that it moved her to tears once again.

She leaned her forehead against his chest and he stroked her hair, murmuring softly against her temple. "Everything is all right darling. I am here, and I will never leave you. I promise." Erik found he was smiling despite all that had just taken place, thinking now that there was nothing more in the way between them those words could be true at last.

They stood there like that for many moments, lost in their relief and dreams for their future together. Neither took any notice of the man stirring ever so slightly on the floor of the tunnel behind them.

Raoul felt each shallow breath as a hot, searing pain in his chest. The air burned him like fire when he inhaled, yet his lungs screamed from the lack of it. He lifted his head slightly from the floor. Though his vision was blurry and unfocused, he could see the motionless body of Jacques lying twenty feet away. He drew in another agonizing breath and closed his eyes, willing them to focus. But the effort wearied him greatly and he lay his cheek back down upon the cool, damp stone of the floor.

He could hear voices not far away, one soft and sweet, and the other sending chills down his spine. With all his remaining strength, he raised his head once more and trained his ear to the sound.

"Christine, my love, I am afraid this may mean the end of your days at La Scala. I am so very sorry." Erik tilted her head up so that he could see her expression, expecting disappointment. But to his surprise, her velvet brown eyes shone instead with a soft, new light.

She shook her head gently. "No, darling, I have a much more important role to prepare for now." She took his hand in her own and placed it on her still flat stomach. Erik looked first down to his hand, then back up to her loving face, his emotion evident in his eyes. Christine smiled. "In a few months, I will be mother to our child, and there is nothing else in the world I long to be more," she paused, "Except perhaps your wife Erik, if you will still have me after all of this?" Her eyes searched his face, a hint of uncertainty in their depths.

"You don't know how long I have waited to hear you speak those words, Christine." Erik breathed. He pulled her to him and drew her into a deep, tender kiss, showing her at last all the love and devotion he had held for her over a lifetime. _I will soon be a husband and a father_, he thought. That unbelievable realization broke through every last defense, every last sorrow of his life.

Erik was so caught up in the wonder of the moment he did not feel the hate-filled eyes throwing daggers at them from across the room.

He did not see the shaking hand reaching for the pistol lying forgotten in the shadows.

And he did not hear the click of the hammer as the vicomte took aim at his turned back.

In the next moment, it was as if time slowed to an unnatural pace to allow for a multitude of sudden events to all fit within the space of a second.

At the crack of a gunshot behind him, Erik turned toward the sound, instinctively putting his body between its source and Christine. Just before the bullet made contact with his chest, however, a second shot rang out and a dark shape flew in front of him, knocking him sideways. Erik braced himself inwardly for the arrival of the seemingly inevitable bullet, but it seemed delayed somehow in its arrival. He thought for a second that it had miraculously missed its mark, until a sudden white-hot pain in his side and the sound of his own flesh being ripped apart told him otherwise.

He fell to his knees before Christine, a look of vague surprise on his face and a creeping crimson stain growing rapidly against the white of his shirt front. Two other bodies slumped to the floor behind him.

Christine heard a piercing scream that she dimly identified as her own just before the room went mercifully dark.


	28. Fate's Final Triumph

**A/N:** Well, faithful readers, we have reached the end at last. This is it. I am very honored that you have devoted several hours of your life to my humble story over the course of the past two months. I have enjoyed your comments and praise immensely, and I hope to be back on this site as a writer next summer when school gets out and I have free time again. However, I plan to be on as a reader every time I get the chance. I know a couple of you had requested that I read and review your fics. If you would email me at the address listed in my profile with the name of them, I will be happy to comply. Just give me a little time to get to them. And BTW, two of my most loyal reviewers and my two new best friends plan on posting their own fics shortly – phantomann and JemaModa. I have gotten a sneak peak at them both and I can tell you that they will be well worth the read.

If you have any questions about this final installment, feel free to email me. Or email me anyway if you want to chat. Thanks again for all the love. Erik plushies and cookies to you all! Enjoy!

**Ch. 28 – Fate's Final Triumph**

"_Christine_."

Christine stirred slightly. She could hear a frightened voice calling her name. The sound seemed distant and it echoed strangely inside her darkened consciousness.

"Christine, please, you must wake up. The police will be here soon. You must not be here when they arrive. Please..."

In the back of her mind Christine comprehended the words and recognized the fearful voice as Marguerite's, but a deeper instinct of self preservation warned her to stay in the comforting arms of the darkness, persuading her that the cold light of reality would be too cruel to bear. She remained motionless on the damp stone of the floor.

She heard another voice, a male one this time, and vaguely familiar. She drifted in and out of consciousness and caught only brief fragments of their anxious conversation.

"We need a doctor, Marguerite, and an undertaker. These bodies need to be removed and given a proper burial. You must speak with the police, of course. I don't understand what we just witnessed, but it was certainly tragic..."

The man's words echoed in Christine's mind.

'_These bodies'..._

_They were all dead then. All dead... _

_All dead..._

_Erik..._

The next thing she knew, she felt herself lifted into strong arms and carried over what seemed like a great distance. Many minutes passed, but still she did not speak, nor open her eyes. She stubbornly refused to awaken to a world where Erik no longer existed. She would choose instead to remain in the darkness until it claimed her for eternity.

She was dimly aware of being laid gently on a soft surface which she assumed to be the bed of her dressing room. She heard the door opening and closing several times and hushed voices around her. They seemed like a distant hum to her ears, and she paid them no mind.

In the corner of the room, however, an intense discussion was taking place.

"We have to get her out of the opera house before the police arrive. They will want to question her and she is in no condition. We need to get her out of the city and back to Florence." Marguerite's voice was distressed and pleading.

"Marguerite, my love, you know I would do anything for you, but this matter is best left to the proper authorities. The vicomte was a nobleman. His death will hardly go unnoticed. And the other man, the one with the deformity - from what you have told me, the man was a murderer. Let the police sort out this mess. Christine had no part in this madness. They will certainly not imprison her." Giovanni Renault ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair, pacing anxiously.

When Marguerite had asked him to come with her to follow the vicomte, he had agreed mainly to ensure Marguerite's safety. Now she was asking him to help her hide bodies, conceal evidence, and aid in the flight of La Scala's new prima donna from the police. Everything was spiraling out of his control. Not only could he lose his position of lead tenor at the world's most famous opera house over this, but there was also the possibility of more serious consequences such as prison for him, or even worse, for Marguerite.

Still, as he looked at her beseeching blue eyes, he knew he could deny her nothing. He had loved her from the first day he had set eyes on her two years ago. He sighed, resigning himself to whatever plan she had in mind.

"Alright, darling. As always, I am your servant. What would you ask of me?" He took her tiny hands in his and searched her face.

Marguerite smiled and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Giovanni. Someday I will tell you the rest of this tale and then you will understand."

She stepped back, an air of urgency in her manner. "I will get her ready. You go and fetch a carriage. Bring it around to the alley door, the one at the exit of the tunnel where I always used to meet you after hours. We have to find a way to get her and the other two men back to Florence." She marched across the room and threw open Christine's armoire, hastily retrieving anything the vicomte had not bothered to pack earlier, speaking over her shoulder as she moved about.

Giovanni stared at her. "But the one man is dead, and the other...well, he is not likely to live. The opera physician is seeing him now, but he said himself that the man's chances are slim. The ride alone might kill him. He has lost so much blood... "

Marguerite stopped her packing to meet his eyes. "Giovanni, I believe that man will deny death itself to be in Christine's arms again. Just help me to get them back to Florence, to give them a chance at happiness that they have never had. The man has killed before, whatever his reasons. The police will assume he is responsible for the vicomte's death and surely kill him, if he doesn't die of his wounds first. We know he was innocent of the vicomte's murder and he only killed the other man to protect Christine. With any luck, after the three of them are gone, we can make it look like the vicomte and the other man killed each other and the police will never be any wiser."

Giovanni stood considering her words for a moment, as Marguerite continued with her packing. He looked over at Christine's pale, tiny form on the bed. The woman was a remarkable singer and a stunning beauty, but always there had been a trace of sadness in her eyes. Perhaps Marguerite was right. And who knew? If they did their part for love, perhaps their own dreams for a happy future together one day might come true as well.

"I will do as you ask, but we must not delay. The rest of the vicomte's men might find the tunnel at any moment and then all is lost." He turned on his heel and left with haste.

Marguerite placed the last of Christine's remaining possessions into a small bag. The vicomte had not left much at all. She closed it and set it aside at last, walking over to sit down on the bed.

She placed a hand to Christine's cheek, but she did not move. The woman had to awaken, for she would need to see to the injured man over the long journey.

"Christine, I am so very sorry, my dear, but you must wake up," Marguerite whispered gently. "I know this has been a very difficult day for you, but you really must awaken now. Your Erik needs you."

At the mention of Erik's name, Christine stirred.

_Erik needs me_.

The thought echoed in her mind, propelling her harshly back to consciousness.

"Erik?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Marguerite smiled, gently patting the tiny woman's hand. "Yes, Christine, Erik is alive," she said softly.

Christine opened her eyes. "Where is he? Can I see him?" she whispered. She began to sit up, but Marguerite's restraining hand and a sharp pain in her abdomen forced her to lie back down.

Marguerite's expression sobered. She wondered how her friend would take the remainder of the news. "Christine, you must listen very carefully. There isn't much time..." She hesitated.

Christine's eyes grew wide and frightened. "You said he was alive. He _is_ alive isn't he?" This time, Marguerite could not prevent her from sitting up.

Marguerite met her eyes and continued stroking her hand. "Yes, Christine, he is alive. But he is injured, very badly. He would have been dead, if it wasn't for the man who jumped in front of him at the last second. The bullet hit that man first, but it traveled cleanly through his chest and hit Erik in the side as he was knocked out of the way."

Christine thought for a moment. She remembered the sound of the shot, then something dark passing in front of Erik, just before he fell to his knees in front of her. But who could it have been? Who besides herself would know of the situation and care enough about Erik to...

_Nadir._

Christine turned and clutched Marguerite's arms, staring into her face. "The man, Marguerite. The man who saved Erik's life, he was foreign? Dark skin and eyes, markings on his face?"

Marguerite was surprised. "You know him then?"

Christine's hand flew to her mouth in horror. Tears filled her eyes. "He was Erik's best friend, his only friend, aside from me. He was a good man." She wondered how Erik would take the news. Or perhaps he already knew?

"Marguerite, where is Erik? Please, I have to see him." There was desperation in her voice now.

Marguerite looked away. "Christine, I don't know how to tell you this, but the doctor doesn't expect he will live. He has lost a lot of blood, and he hasn't regained consciousness."

Christine's already pale face whitened considerably. She dropped her head into her hands, sobbing weakly.

_So much sorrow, so much disappointment_. _Always our happiness seems destined to be shattered, _she thought in despair.

Marguerite felt great sympathy for her friend, but there wasn't time now to mourn the man before he was even in his grave. She touched Christine's arm.

"Christine, the police will be here soon. They will take Erik away, thinking he killed the vicomte."

Christine looked up. "Raoul is dead as well?"

Marguerite nodded. "Just as the vicomte fired at Erik, the foreign man fired back at him. That was the second shot you heard. He was dead instantly. Giovanni and I saw the whole thing happen, just as we entered the room."

She wondered how much more Christine could endure in this fragile state, but it seemed important for her to know all that had happened so that she could be prepared for the potential dangers of the journey home.

"I am sorry, Christine. I know you were married to the vicomte for a time. You must have cared for him..." Marguerite lowered her gaze uncomfortably.

Christine's head snapped up, her eyes suddenly full of fire and hatred. "Raoul was no longer the man I once thought him to be. I am not sure he ever was. After all that he has done to Erik and to me, I feel only relief at his death. In the end, it was he who was revealed to be the monster. If only I had seen it sooner..." She turned her gaze away, staring at her hands.

Marguerite was momentarily shocked by her harsh words, but then she heard voices outside the door and remembered suddenly the urgency of their situation.

"Christine, you must leave here right now. I have sent Signor Renault to help Erik to the carriage and he is bringing the body of the other man as well. When the police come, he and I will try to lead them to the conclusion that the vicomte and the other man were arguing. Jacques fired at him, the two men struggled. The vicomte strangled him out of self defense, but in the scuffle, the gun went off and after Jacques was dead the vicomte succumbed to his injuries as well."

Christine blinked at her in surprise. Was it really possible that this young woman who had known her only a short time would go to such lengths to help her? "Thank you, Marguerite for everything. I am sorry for the position I have put you and Signor Renault in with mess." She covered the girl's hand with her own.

Marguerite smiled sadly. "I am glad to be able to help you, Christine. I wish you a much happier future than the past you have known, though I fear it holds only more suffering for you." Her expression was grave. "You must see that he loses no more blood, and that infection does not set in. The trip may very well be too much for him..." her voice trailed off, for Christine was no longer listening.

She had lifted herself off the bed and was moving towards the door, when she paused. A look of pain crossed her face, and she doubled over slightly.

Marguerite was instantly concerned. "Christine, are you all right? Perhaps I should fetch the doctor for you."

Christine stood with determination, tears shining in her eyes.

"No, no. There is no time. Take me to Erik. Please. I need to be with him. If these are our last moments, so be it. I cannot change that, but I can spend every second that we have left by his side."

Marguerite could sense her desperation and without another word, she accompanied Christine out the door, looking both ways down the hall first to ensure that no one would see them. They ducked quickly behind another door in the darkened hallway, and then flew down three flights of rickety stairs until Christine recognized the tunnel she had fled down less than two hours prior. She shivered at the thought of the events that had taken place only a few more feet below as she followed Marguerite around the corner she had missed the first time and up three more flights of stairs to the alley door.

The carriage was ready and waiting. Christine quickly hugged and thanked Marguerite and murmured her thanks to Signor Renault as he helped her inside and motioned to the driver.

As the carriage raced away into the newly fallen night, Marguerite and Giovanni stood staring after it, both of them wondering silently what would become of the two tragic lovers it bore away.

Christine knelt all in black upon the green grass of a pristine, tiny garden along the southern edge of Porto Dell' Angelo's vast grounds, which were washed once again in the soft amber glow of those last moments just before the setting of the sun. It was early summer: the time when all of the flowers were in full bloom and the warm air carried the scent of their fragrant heavy blossoms, along with the faint sound of church bells from the grand city below.

Though it was a lovely evening, Christine felt the familiar tug of sorrow and loss at her heart as she laid a bouquet first on one grave, and then on the other. She bent her head in silent prayer and mourning.

It had been a little over ten years since the fateful confrontation at La Scala and her desperate flight from Milan. And nearly ten years since all the tragedy and bittersweet healing that had followed. Every year, on this same day, she dressed in black and came to pay her respects to the two dear souls that rested here. It had become a tradition, a way to remember the sadness of the past and celebrate her hopes for the future.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she read the inscriptions on the first of the two simple, but elegantly chiseled stone markers.

_Nadir Khan_

_Loyal and Devoted Friend_

_A great man in both word and deed._

When she remembered the man's sacrifice, even to this day, she felt an overwhelming sense of respect and gratitude. Truly, he had been a remarkable man, though she had known him only a short time.

She drew in a deep breath before turning to the second stone. She knew the words on this one by heart and she whispered them as her fingers lovingly traced the letters carved deep into the cool granite.

_Erik de Renoir_

_Beloved Angel_

_Though your time on earth was short, _

_You have a place in our hearts for all eternity_

She lowered her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

After a few moments, a warm hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"I am late, forgive me darling."

Christine raised her shining eyes to her husband's concerned face. "No, it is I who should ask for forgiveness. I did not wait for you. I admit I wanted just a moment alone here before you arrived." She stood and wrapped her arms around his waist, gazing up at him with undisguised adoration. "What kept you, anyway?"

Erik sighed. "Nicholas locked the cat in the cellar again, Ariana spilled orange juice all over the kitchen floor, and I won't even _tell_ you what Marc has done, but I do hope you weren't too terribly attached to that crystal vase in the living room. But never fear, thanks to me, all is well now." He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose.

Christine looked up at him, her eyes taking in the familiar masked face of the man she loved beyond all reason. How far he had come since his days below the Opera Populaire. How far they both had come. She thanked God every day that she had at last found the courage to look beyond his mask, for underneath all Erik's past anger and violence lay the most wonderful unique man, capable of greatest love and deepest devotion. He was the ideal father to their three children who adored him. And as both a husband and a lover Christine felt she could never ask for any more. Erik completed and fulfilled her in ways she had never thought possible.

Her gentle brown eyes, sought his and she whispered sincerely, "Erik, I am so very thankful that God spared you that day." She leaned her forehead against his chest, and he leaned his chin down to rest in her curls.

"So am I, my love," he said quietly. "I have many things to be thankful for now, most of all you and the children."

His gaze fell on the gravestone of his son, their first child. It was small wonder that he had been born weak and sickly, two full months ahead of schedule. After the stress of the early months of Christine's pregnancy, it was a miracle that Christine had managed to carry the child as long as she had. The boy had died only days after his birth and their sorrow at his passing continued even unto this day.

He felt tears in his own eyes as he took her hand and they walked together back toward the villa. When they came within view of the front door, Ariana toddled out the front door and across the grass toward them, her chestnut curls bouncing over her shoulders. She was followed closely by her two older brothers. Nicholas was the eldest of the three and at the age of eight he had his father's striking gray-blue eyes and was already showing signs of his height and lean, agile build as well. Marc and Ariana, however, favored their mother, both with dark curls and big brown eyes.

Erik reached down and scooped his daughter easily into his arms, planting a gentle kiss on her chubby cheek. The family gathered on the portico, just as the sun was setting over the city. A second bench had long ago been added to accommodate their growing family. Erik and Christine settled onto the older one with Ariana snuggled contentedly in Erik's lap, while the boys flopped onto the other. It had become a tradition for the family to come together here to watch the sun sink below the horizon and to await the soft fall of the gentle twilight over the city.

They watched in peaceful silence as the sun sank lazily below the line of the horizon and its last rays painted the sky with muted stripes of magenta, lavender, and cornflower. After a time, Christine ushered her two yawning sons into the house and up the stairs to bed.

While he awaited her return, Erik sat holding his sleeping daughter tightly in his arms and breathing in the peace and contentment of his new life. He had never imagined he might be so fortunate one day. He lifted his eyes to the heavens and said a silent prayer of thanks.

After a few minutes, Christine returned and sat down beside him once again.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked curiously.

Erik smiled, his adoring eyes coming to rest on the face of the woman who shared his life and his dreams.

"I was just thinking how very fortunate we are to have each other and three beautiful, healthy children," he said softly. "We have truly been blessed."

Christine's eyes sparkled mischievously and she leaned towards him to whisper in his ear.

"And about eight months from now we shall be blessed again."

Erik drew back so that he could see her face. Her eyes were shining and her smile had a special radiance about it that he has seen only a few times before.

When his initial surprise subsided, Erik laughed merrily. "We shall have to add another bench."

Christine reached up and brought his smiling lips to hers for a tender kiss. She then stood up and reached out her hand.

"Come to bed with me, Erik."

Erik immediately raised an eyebrow and gave her a wicked grin. "If you keep propositioning me like that, milady, we shall have to add _more_ than one bench."

Christine laughed as he took her hand. Erik adjusted Ariana's sleeping form in his other arm carefully so as not to awaken her. He and Christine walked hand in hand through the door of the villa, closing it gently behind them.

Somewhere in the peaceful night, Fate was smiling at last.


End file.
